


Sing You a Lullaby

by KimboKah



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Child Abuse, Child Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor doesn't talk, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), If I continue, Psychological Trauma, graphic descriptions of child abuse, may have a kinda happy end, much - Freeform, rearranging some roles to fit my narrative, using Sumo as a persuasion tactic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimboKah/pseuds/KimboKah
Summary: Lieutenant Hank Anderson was sure he would finally wrap up the Stern-case forever. He'd never thought that what he'd find in their attic would have such a lasting impact on his life.





	1. Finders Keepers

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, a new fic while I haven't finished my other two?  
Why the heck not?

_August 15, 2038_

The sun shone unforgivingly on their heads when they stepped out of their cars. The neighborhood had a distinct air of elitism about it and Lieutenant Hank Anderson shuddered despite the heat. This wasn’t the kind of place where they normally worked and when he felt the sweat slide down his hairline, he wished they’d picked any other day to organize this fucking police raid.

The gigantic property was in name of the family Stern, a wealthy and secluded family, very infamous at the DPD. They were smart; Hank had to give them that. But he was patient, and if you were patient for long enough, somebody always talked. Until now the long tentacles of the Sterns that reached into the deepest parts of the underground of Detroit had remained untouchable. All evidence of their involvement ghosted the moment the police force got closer and Hank had remembered that frustration exceptionally well.

Today was the day, though.

Sergeant Chris Miller came to stand next to him with the long sought after Search Warrant grasped firmly in his hand. Behind them, most of the rest of the team stood by their squad cars, waiting for the command to come into action.

“Let’s just go in, before we melt here on the sidewalk,” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, commonly known for his informal way of carrying out procedures.

The twelve SWAT cops behind Hank and his partner moved into position fluidly and Hank felt instantly more powerful as he calmly walked towards the main entrance of the mansion. _Three floors, 37 rooms, 1 garden shed and a stable. _Despite what his captain thought, Hank came prepared to things like this.

“Detroit Police Department,” Hank called, knocking against the large wooden door rapidly. “Open up, we have a warrant for your address.”

Both he and Chris stared intently at the closed door, listening for anything to stir in the house. Nothing happened. Not a single sound.

“Open up!” Hank barked again, “We will be using force if you don’t cooperate!”

Chris looked at him with a clear question in his eyes and Hank nodded before they both stepped aside and the SWAT team stepped in to do what they did best: make a lot of noise and cause a lot of destruction. A flurry of commotion inside the house was giving Hank hope for all of six seconds before he heard the CLEAR and let his shoulders slump. Chances of catching anyone off guard now were slim to none.

“Goddamnit,” Hank growled into the kitchen. The entire ground floor was empty. Furniture was still there, but anything valuable was long gone.

“Check upstairs,” he mumbled half-heartedly, already guessing a comparable situation would greet them there.

“How’d they know?” Chris wondered out loud.

“Tip off, probably,” Hank bristled. “Fuck, I shoulda known.”

With every ‘clear’ they heard, Hank’s mood dipped lower and lower. Still, he made the effort to go upstairs as well. Just like he had come to expect, there was nobody there either. Nothing that could even begin to classify as evidence was left behind and Hank’s frustration radiated off of him in almost tangible waves. Chris had decided to stay a sensible six feet behind him.

The third floor was no different and with only seven rooms there, it was cleared within two minutes. Hank crouched down, draping his arms over his knees; a preferred position whenever he felt he needed to think. SWAT was already downstairs again, spilling out of the house to check the shed and stables behind the property.

“No basement?” Chris muttered, leaning against the wall.

“No, not listed,” Hank replied, looking up, “but-”

A faint scrabbling came from the ceiling and Hank rose to his feet instantly. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“Maybe it’s rats,” Chris offered quietly.

“Maybe,” Hank mumbled.

“There’s no attic listed either, is there? So maybe there’s rats in the roof.”

Hank didn’t answer, eying the tiny hatch on the ceiling, painted in the same off-white color, so it was hardly detectable. Chris’ eyes followed his gaze and Hank heard him swallow thickly. “Oh shit.”

“It could still be rats,” Hank mumbled.

“Yeah,” Chris humored him. After hesitating for three more seconds, Hank resolutely walked into an adjacent bedroom to retrieve a chair and placed it under the small hatch.

“Shouldn’t we wait for SWAT to come back?” Chris asked.

“They make a fucking mess of everything,” Hank replied simply, slowly testing the chair with his weight. “I’m just gonna take a look, catch some rats.” If anyone _was _up there, they’d be more willing to cooperate with him if he didn’t come with an entire SWAT team behind him.

“Be careful,” Chris hissed and then Hank yanked the hatch open.

It creaked loudly, dust and paint fluttering to the ground. Hank coughed slightly, flailing his arm through the cloud of dust. “Fuck’s sake,” he grumbled.

The hole in the ceiling wasn’t very large, and Hank figured he could only just squeeze through there. If anyone was armed up there, they’d probably shoot him through the head as soon as he peeked through there.

Oh well.

His arms strained as he pushed all his 200 pounds upwards. He’d curse if he wasn’t so out of breath already. With a strained grunt, he got up all the way, immediately alert at the sound of a frantic scramble somewhere in the corner furthest away from him. The attic smelled absolutely horrific.

Probably rats after all.

He scowled at the corner, retrieving his weapon from his holster anyway, pointing it downward as he slowly approached the dark corner, nearly gagging on the putrid air.

“See anything?” Chris asked downstairs.

“Shh!” Hank hushed quickly, fumbling with the flashlight on his belt before snapping it on. A high-pitched shriek, more scrambling and panicked breathing.

“Shit,” Hank hissed, putting away his gun and instead shining his flashlight over the place of interest. Something was pressing itself desperately into the wall and Hank swore, if that family left a dog here in the attic, there was at least something they could get an arrest warrant for. He walked very slowly, hunched under the low ceiling and arms outstretched to show harmlessness. If that dog attacked, he’d still have his fists, and a flashlight, that would have to do.

A desperate whimper that sounded absolutely nothing like a dog arose from under a pile of old dusty blankets and Hank’s mouth fell open in horror.

“No…” he whispered, nearly dropping his flashlight in shock. A pair of shoes stuck out from under the pile, dirty, trembling and way too small for Hank’s liking. The child whimpered again, and the shoes disappeared under the blankets. Sweat was gushing down Hank’s face by now, the temperature in the attic even higher than downstairs.

For the entirety of ten seconds, Hank had no idea what to do. He stood there, frozen with a flashlight in his hand. He bit his lip, cursed under his breath and then crouched down. “I-It’s alright,” he said quietly, his voice shaking, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The pile of blankets didn’t stir, possibly thinking that if it didn’t move, Hank couldn’t see it.

“Me and my friend – he’s downstairs – we just wanna talk, alright? That’s all. Can you come out of there for me?”

No movement. Hank didn’t have any confirmation the child had actually heard him. He reached for the blankets, wishing there was another way before he snatched the only shield the child had away. The child flailed wildly, kicking at Hank’s arms. Harsh, panicked breaths filled the small, humid space and Hank jumped back quickly. The kid scrambled back, pressing his back against the wall, drawing his legs up to his chest and pressing his face into his knees.

“What’s going on?” Chris asked, concerned.

“There’s a kid!” Hank yelled down, watching the child’s body stiffen at the loudness of his voice.

“Shit!” Chris cursed, scrambling to get up the chair.

“Stay back!” Hank called, feeling his heart break as the child began to tremble in earnest. He bit his lip, cursing his own loud voice and crouched down. From what he could see in the beam of the flashlight against the darkness of the attic, the kid was small and filthy. It was impossible to tell his age, or even see his face. Hank couldn’t actually see much more than a silhouette, to be really honest, but it was enough to make his stomach churn.

“You wanna come downstairs with me?” he tried for good measure. The child’s head slowly lifted and he stared with dark, glistening eyes. Hank stared back, but had the sense to keep the flashlight cast downwards.

“Do you understand English?” Hank asked slowly. The boy didn’t move, but just kept looking at him, like Hank was some puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Hank offered again and the kid tilted his head slightly, intrigued. His hand reached out, curling into one of the smelly old blankets on the floorboards. Hank nodded slowly, “You can take the blanket,” he said, taking a small, awkward step closer.

The boy yanked the blanket over his knees and smashed the back of his head against the sloping wall. For a moment, Hank froze, thinking it may have been an accident. But then the kid did it again. And again. The child’s breathing sped up again, shrieking and whimpering while his head connected with the cement behind him.

“Alright, alright,” Hank said quickly, taking a few steps back. The kid sobbed and gasped and there was something very very extremely wrong here, and Hank did not want to think about it right at this very moment. “How about this? You can come downstairs with me, we can talk for a little bit, then you can come meet my dog, alright?”

A sharp inhale, but the smashing stopped. The kid’s head turned towards him again slowly; his ragged, tangled mop of dark hair falling into his eyes.

“You like dogs?” Hank asked. He’d used Sumo as a peace offering quite a few times before, he had to admit. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. The boy didn’t answer, but didn’t start cracking his skull open anymore either. So there was something. Hank could hear Chris’ anxious pacing downstairs when all else was silent for a few seconds.

“He’s a really nice dog. Kinda big, but a real sweetheart. He likes to cuddle and eat. Sometimes he’s too lazy to move though,” Hank was rambling, but it seemed to work. The child was listening intently, even though it was still hard to figure out whether the boy understood anything that he said, “Got him from a shelter when it was just me and Cole-”

Oh.

That hadn’t happened before.

Hank paused, trying to get his bearings. The child was looking at him apprehensively, but curious. For two seconds, nothing happened. Then the kid took a deep, shuddering breath and scooted an inch closer.

“A-anyway,” Hank continued, faltering slightly, “He’s a big sweetheart. I’m pretty sure he’d love to meet you. Gotta warn ya, might give you a big ol’ lick on the face. Nothing we can do about that. Got some nasty slobber going on too. But he means well, promise.”

The kid began to inch closer to him slowly, blanket still clutched in his grasp. As he came closer, Hank saw the obvious signs of abuse and neglect and he wanted to throw up. He’d seen a lot of horrible crap in his career, but kids… kids were the absolute worst. And as far as Hank could see now, this could be the worst of the worst.

He couldn’t think about that yet, so he kept talking, “You know, one time, Sumo –dog’s name’s Sumo- got off leash. We looked for him for almost two hours. Found the ol’ frick in a pile of snow, just napping. He’s weird like that sometimes. Love’s the snow. And snowball fights too.” Hank kept talking, feigning calm as the child slowly scooted past him towards the hole in the floor.

“O-oh, alright,” Hank said, crawling towards the entrance as well. “Be careful, it’s kinda high.” He knew better than to pick the kid up and carry him down, but that didn’t mean it was gonna be any easier to let the child climb down on his own. It was only when the boy dangled his legs over the gap in the floor that Hank noticed it. One of the child’s legs was a lot shorter than the other one. He blinked in confusion as the kid looked down at the chair that stood downstairs, probably trying to figure out how to get on it without breaking his neck. Chris was down there, but Hank had the feeling all hell would break loose as he as much as attempted to catch the boy.

“Chris, stay back,” he called to his partner therefore.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Chris mumbled, but didn’t interfere.

The boy lowered himself slowly with remarkable control in his thin, trembling arms. He reached the chair eventually with his longer leg, keeping the other one suspended as he let go of the attic. He climbed off the chair, stood for all of three seconds before swaying and falling sideways.

“Crap,” Chris said, catching the kid halfway down his dead faint.

Hank swore, climbed down the hatch himself and rushed to kneel next to the child and his partner. In the full light, the boy looked absolutely horrible. His skin was extremely pale, heat radiating off of him in sickening waves. Bruises scattered all over the boy’s body. Old wounds. Wrongly healed bones. This case was horrifyingly extreme. Hank lifted the bottom of one of the boy’s pant leg’s and closed his eyes briefly as he confirmed what he’d suspected. The child’s right leg stopped at the knee, wearing a much too small prosthetic below that. Hank was sure that there was a long and awful story behind it, but right now they needed to get the boy to safety.

Chris scooped up the unconscious, limp bundle of bones in his arms, grumbling curses all the way as they slowly made their way downstairs. Hank could tell his partner was angered to his very core. It was very seldom they found something as horrific as this. And Chris, having just had his second child a week ago, was obviously affected by it.

Hank supposed he was too.

SWAT waited for them at the entrance. He saw the eyes of the one closest to the door widen considerably when he and Chris walked towards them. “I’ve requested an ambulance already,” Chris mumbled, his arms tightening around the child almost unnoticeably.

“Holy fucking shit,” was all the SWAT officer had to offer.


	2. Home?

“Don’t know his name, his age or why he was up there,” Hank sighed, planting both elbows on the kitchen table and rubbing his face. “Basically, we know nothing.” Rose firmly set a steaming mug of coffee in front of his face and Hank’s gaze zoned into that immediately. “Thanks.”

“Put a tiny shot of whiskey in there; you look like you need it,” Rose muttered, sitting down next to him with her own cup of coffee.

“Double thanks,” Hank smiled slightly.

“At least you guys have a lead now, right?” she asked as Hank took a sip.

Hank set his mug down, grimacing at the distaste of possibly using the child as a lead. He shook his head tightly. “It makes no fucking sense. The house is completely empty, but there’s a goddamn starving child in the attic. What? They just forget about him or something?”

“Or something,” Rose said pointedly, “Poor child.”

“Poor child doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Hank mumbled, feeling a wet nose press persistently against his knee. He reached out to scratch the large dog behind the ears, “Did I mention Sumo basically got him out of there?”

“You did that thing again, didn’t you?” Rose smiled.

“Worked like charm,” Hank grinned.

“One of these times you gonna have to bring that big lug to them, you know that right?”

“I know…” Hank muttered, “It’s not like I find children in attics all the fucking time.”

“I’m aware,” Rose said softly, pressing a soft kiss against his temple, “And I also realize how hard this must be after-”

“Don’t,” Hank grunted.

“Alright,” Rose whispered, “Just remember that that child’s story has nothing to do with whatever happens to him now.”

Hank nodded half heartedly. Rose was good at absolving people from blame. He guessed that’s why she was a good police psychiatrist. God knows they needed some blame absolving. “You at the DPD today?”

“Nope, today is farm day,” Rose smiled.

“Those vegetables don’t grow themselves?”

“Not optimally.”

“Right.”

“Hey,” she shoved him playfully, “Farming is just as important as police work.”

“I suppose it does yield better results,” Hank relented.

“What about you? You at the office?”

“At some point, maybe,” Hank sighed, “Gotta head to the hospital first.”

Rose bit her lip and Hank just knew she wanted to say something about children in hospitals, but she wisely kept silent. Hank really didn’t want to talk about that sorta stuff. Especially not since yesterday.

The day was nearly as hot as the day before, but somehow seemed less bright. Hank felt his mood dwindle to sub-zero as he paced swiftly through the impersonal hospital halls. The walls were brightly colored in the children’s ward, but it did nothing to alleviate the heavy atmosphere that haunted through these halls. Hank had been staring at a poster of an elephant with a bandaged trunk for about two minutes before his partner materialized at his side out of fucking nowhere.

“Lieutenant?”

“Fuck sake Miller,” Hank grumbled.

“Sorry,” Chris said, his eyes fleeting towards the closest door. They stayed silent for a few beats before Chris cleared his throat, “I completely understand if you don’t want to go in there, lieutenant.”

That struck a nerve and Hank turned to his partner with an angry glare, “Don’t you treat me like that, Christopher, not you.”

“I’m just saying, Hank,” Chris said softly, “It would be completely understandable after… everything.”

Hank made a frustrated noise in his throat, then turned and walked towards the door, hesitating for only two seconds before pushing it open and stepping in.

Disinfectant was a prevalent smell and it hit his nose immediately. Terrible memories he desperately tried to push back down were climbing their way up to the forefront of his mind. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself before walking further into the room. He could feel Chris’ presence just behind him. “They say anything?”

“Kid’s been drifting in and out,” Chris told quietly as they both stared at the sleeping child, “High fever, starvation, anemia, whatever else you’ll fit under the category ‘terrible’, I guess I stopped listening at some point, cause… you know.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank sighed dejectedly. The boy looked way too small for the size of the bed. His hair and skin were now clean, making the bruises stand out even more. They removed the ill-fitting prostethic, leaving an empty spot below the child’s knee. Hank had so many questions.

“May not come as a surprise, but there’s no children registered in the Stern family since their youngest Carmen, and she’s fifteen.”

“Yeah, figured they wouldn’t let the system know about him if they were gonna keep him in the attic,” Hank grumbled, feeling an intense hatred filling his gut slowly. Stern children were notorious for being spoilt brats, causing minor offenses like vandalism and drug abuse, which their parents or grandparents got them out of easily with a large sum of money. This boy fell out of that description entirely. “At some point that leg’s been amputated. Probably couple years ago. Somebody musta done that.”

Chris nodded, turning away from the bed, “Doctor estimates him to be six or seven years old, but it’s hard to tell.”

“What if he’s not a Stern?” Hank muttered, looking at the boy’s young face. He looked peaceful enough now, but the image of the child smashing his head against the wall was still branded on Hank’s retinas.

“You thinking about kidnapping?” Chris wondered. “Think they’d do a thing like that?”

“Extortion, maybe?” Hank muttered, “Though we would have probably caught on sooner for that.”

“You don’t sound sure,” Chris commented, leaning against the foot of the bed.

“Just don’t add up,” Hank admitted, “If the kid has any value for them, they wouldn’t have left him in the attic for us to find.”

“Or someone made a mistake.”

Hank thought about that for a moment, watching the boy breathe slowly, “Or someone was trying to save him.”

“How?”

“Stern’s don’t actually make mistakes, as far as I know,” Hank said, “Could be someone felt sorry for the kid. Someone that knew we were coming. Might even have gotten us that search warrant.”

Chris smiled slightly, looking up at Hank with a hint of admiration on his face, “You think someone like Williams?”

“Definitely not Todd,” Hank grumbled, “But I suppose Luther has worked for the Sterns as well. May have seen the kid around. He got a little kid himself, doesn’t he?”

“Right, I remember,” Chris nodded. “It’s a good theory. But we can’t prove any of it.”

“No,” Hank sighed, “and it just opens up a whole gigantic new can of worms. I mean, once the Sterns figure out we got the kid.”

“Fuck,” Chris breathed, eyes widening, “Hadn’t thought about that.”

“Having a neglected, abused child in your attic is very illegal, and Sterns don’t like loose ends like that. They might come back for him.”

“I’ll call the captain, have the boy secured at all times.”

“Yes,” Hank agreed, “And see if you can get a hold of Luther Williams, he’s the only possible lead we got.”

“I’m on it,” Chris nodded, taking the chance to leave the room.

Hank sighed deeply. All his theories were based on guesswork; nothing tangible. Hank didn’t like going on a puff of smoke like that. “Where did you come from?” he mumbled. The kid’s head moved slowly, large eyes opening and blinking a few times before focusing on Hank. Behind all the fear and confusion, Hank detected the tiniest sliver of trust, and he almost didn’t dare to move in fear of breaking it. He’d thought the child’s hair was black when he met him yesterday, but now that it was clean and a bit shorter, he could see the deep auburn color. The boy’s eyes were bright with fever, but seemed intelligent despite the small hint of feral. The child would be fairly good looking, if it weren’t for the countless bruises that littered his frame. Or the way you could see the bones move beneath his skin. Hank shuddered involuntarily. The boy studied his face intently, his expression carrying utter confusion and reservation. 

“It’s alright, buddy,” Hank said, clearing his throat, “You’re safe here.” As expected, the child didn’t give any indication he heard him.

“At least you got clean blankets here,” Hank nodded at the bedding. The child’s eyes travelled down and he clutched his small hands in the sheets.

“I know you understand what I’m saying,” Hank continued, “I understand if you don’t feel like talking. That’s okay. Can you nod if you can hear me?”

A beat. Two. Then the boy’s head dipped once as his gaze remained on the blankets.

“That’s very good,” Hank smiled, even though the kid couldn’t see him. “You’re at the hospital,” Hank told him, eying the boy’s right leg, “You ever been at a hospital before?” He had to wait two seconds before the boy’s head dipped again and it kinda felt like winning the lottery.

“Gotta make sure you feel better,” Hank said quietly, taking a chair to sit next to the boy’s bed and making sure to move as slowly as possible. “You don’t have to say anything else right now, but can you tell me your name?”

The boy looked up at him and Hank saw the hesitation in the large brown eyes. They searched Hank’s eyes, as if maybe the answer could be found there. The boy took a deep breath, “C’nn’r,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. He looked down immediately, his body stiffening in fear and Hank knew that that was a very bad sign.

“Connor?” Hank asked to clarify. The boy nodded quickly, not daring to look up at him. His hands were shaking, grasping at the sheets tightly and Hank knew he would tear them apart if he had the strength. He was breathing fast, but desperately tried to appear steady.

“Thank you for telling me, Connor,” Hank said softly, keeping his voice low and even. Connor nodded again, tracing invisible patterns over the blanket with his fingers in a rhythmic, practiced manner. He winced whenever he took a deep breath and Hank frowned.

“You in pain, Connor?” He asked. Connor shook his head wildly, way too quickly. Another horrible sign, Hank noted.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to lie to me,” Hank said.

“I’m okay,” the boy said quietly; his tiny voice shaking and thin. Hank had already figured the child didn’t use his voice a whole lot.

Hank nodded, recognizing that he wouldn’t be able to get the boy to admit to any pain for now. “How old are you?” Connor didn’t answer, but the patterns on the blanket became a little more frantic.

“It’s okay, you can just hold up as many fingers, alright?” The boy looked up briefly, biting his lip in contemplation before splaying out seven fingers over the blanket.

“Seven, huh?” Hank smiled gently. He would have pictured the kid a bit younger, but that didn’t say anything, considering his malnourished state. He wondered when the last time was the boy had seen sunlight, but quickly pushed the thought away. “You’re a very brave kid, Connor.”

“Sumo?” Connor whispered, his eyes locking onto Hank’s steadily for the first time.

“Ah,” Hank smiled, “You remember the dog. You like dogs.” Connor nodded in affirmation, his eyes still wide and hopeful.

“Tell you what,” Hank said, leaning in a bit closer, “I’ll see if I can bring the big lazybones when you feel a little better.”

“When?” Connor demanded.

Hank raised his brow. The kid didn’t let him off the hook so easily. “How about next week?” The boy seemed to consider that for a second, then nodded.

“Just don’t tell the doctor or your nurse, alright?” Hank said, “Think they don’t find it a good idea.”

Connor shrugged, not caring. “Home?” he asked softly.

“Home?” Hank repeated in confusion. “You wanna go home?”

Connor bowed his head, drawing the sheets up to his chest as he started to rock himself back and forth slowly. A muffled cry came from behind the blanket and the boy shook his head jerkily. “Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry,” he chanted, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Sorry?” Hank asked, completely taken aback by the kid’s sudden behavior, “Connor, you don’t gotta be sorry. You did nothing wrong.” But the boy kept shaking his head, digging his short nails into the side of his knees.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Hank said, reaching out to grab the boy’s wrists but thinking better of it halfway through his action. Too late. The boy shrieked in fear, scrambling backwards on the bed, the tiny bit of trust hidden in his eyes slowly diminishing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Hank rushed quickly, holding up his hands for the boy to see, “I’m not gonna touch you. I’m sorry for scaring you.” The child was pressed up against the headboard, tube in his nose now askew. He was breathing hard, a wild, uncertain look in his eyes.

“God, what did they do to you?” Hank mumbled. He made a mental note to talk to the doctor later. He’d have the difficult task of sorting out the case file later, listing the types of abuse this child had gone through. Jeffrey would probably advise against it, but this was Hank’s case now. In no way could he let anyone else take over from here. He shivered, thinking about how disastrous a hork like detective Reed would handle a delicate case like this.

The boy’s breathing had settled down somewhat, but he still stared at Hank with clear unease.

“Alright, how about I’mma let you sleep for a bit again?” Hank offered, standing up slowly, “I’ll talk to the doctor, and I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

Connor frowned, looking away before repeating his earlier question, “Home?”

Hank sighed deeply and shook his head, “I don’t know, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyy, I did it. 
> 
> I've never received so many comments on a single chapter, so thank you all so much!
> 
> Still fairly unsure of where to go with this though, so I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions!


	3. Inconclusive

August 17, 2038

“I just really don’t think it’s a good idea,” Jeffrey sighed, leaning over his desk to look Hank in the eye.

Hank forced himself to bite his tongue, but he really wanted to yell at his captain right now. “I know what you’re thinking-”

_Inconclusive-_

“I don’t think you’re ready for this,” Jeffrey filled in.

“It’s been three years, Jeff,” Hank sighed, “I’m never gonna be _ready._”

“Reed can pick it up from here, I’m sure.”

Hank blinked at his former partner a few times, trying to determine if he heard correctly, “Fucking Gavin _Reed?_”

“I know, I know,” Jeffrey said, leaning back, “But I think he’ll be the most objective.”

“But he’s on homicide,” Hank grunted.

“Last time I checked, so are you,” Jeffrey replied.

“That makes no fucking sense!” Damning his calm approach, Hank jumped up from his chair, “I know the Stern case to every fucking detail-”

“You know why I’m doing this!”

“Yeah, and if I have to hand over every case involving children to Reed, I may as well throw them in front of the bus myself! He just wants the case because it’s the Sterns! He can’t even begin to understand what that kid’s been through!”

“Oh, and you can?”

Hank paused, fuming, then tightened his grip around the dog leash in his hand, deciding on a different approach, “Look, the kid knows me. He doesn’t talk much, but at least I got something outta him. Giving the case to Reed will just put a delay on everything, and you know it.”

Captain Jeffrey Fowler studied him for a few seconds, “You really think you can get somewhere with this case?”

_Inconclusive-_

“Yes,” Hank answered immediately.

“I’mma have Miller keep an eye on you,” Jeffrey warned.

“Fine,” Hank grunted.

“I’ll assign the both of you to this case then. And I want you to tell me immediately whenever this gets to be too much for the two of you.”

“Fine.”

“You better catch me those fucking Sterns.”

“I’ve been intending to for almost a year now,” Hank sighed. “They’re always one step ahead.”

Jeffrey nodded slowly, rubbing both his hands over his face before sighing deeply, “What’s with the fucking dog?”

Hank smiled slightly. “He’s got a job.”

“What?”

“He’s an emotional support animal now.”

“Oh for fuck sake,” Jeffrey rumbled, “You are cleaning every strand of dog hair from my office.”

“It’s for the kid,” Hank explained, exasperated.

_Inconclusive-_

“I see,” the captain paused, “That’s not a half bad idea.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re still clearing my office of dog hair.”

“Whatever.”

Tugging on the leash, Hank woke Sumo from his seventh nap of that morning. The dog gave him an annoyed look, but got up nevertheless. The large Saint-Bernard stretched with an exaggerated groan, and then proceeded to shake; sending what looked like half his fur unto the ground. Hank gave him a look of betrayal. “Really?” he mouthed. Sumo looked up at him and Hank was sure the dog would have shrugged lazily if he could.

They left the office together and crossed the bullpen; Sumo as slow as ever, sniffing every single desk, chair and corner, presumably in search of whatever food officers tended to leave around here.

“So did we get it?” Chris asked, leaning against his own desk opposite from Hank’s.

“He wanted to give it to _Reed,_” Hank grumbled.

“You’re kidding,” Chris replied, a look of disgust on his face.

“Swear to God,” Hank shook his head, “Cap’s getting totally out of touch.”

“But you got it?”

“Course I got it,” Hank said and saw Chris shoulders sag in relief. Whatever the Sergeant’s previous reservations about the case may have been, at least it wasn’t going to _Reed._

“You talk to the doctor?”

_Inconclusive-_

“Yeah,” Hank grumbled. “Got a definite confirmation on severe physical abuse and neglect.”

Chris looked away briefly, doubtlessly letting his mind drift to his own two daughters. He shook his head, biting his lip with a conflicted look on his face, as if he needed to say something but didn’t really know if he should, “What about-” he sighed, trying again, “What about sexual abuse?”

_Inconcl-_

_“_Inconclusive,_” _Hank mumbled.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“So in other words, probably,” Chris muttered and Hank saw the anger flare up in his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Hank said, “We don’t get to draw conclusions like that.”

“I know,” his partner said, but Hank could tell he was still fuming.

_Fair enough._

“I’mma need records on every child named Connor that went missing in the last couple years.”

“That’ll take a while.” Chris stared at him.

“I believe in you,” Hank gave him a clap on the shoulder. Chris Miller may be a bit of a pushover sometimes, but he was a damn good detective. “Hear anything back from Williams?”

Chris shook his head, “Not yet. But I’ll try again in a sec.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without you,” Hank gave a lopsided grin, clapping his partner on the shoulder again as he past him.

“Probably a lot more paperwork,” Chris called after him.

“Alright Sumo,” Hank mumbled, shortening the dog’s leash in his hand as they stood outside the hospital room, “Gotta make a good first impression. So keep the slobbering to a minimum, we clear?”

The dog huffed, but sat down obediently. It had taken a considerable amount of sweet talking to the nurse at the front desk to even let the dog be here in the first place. Hank was not about to let that effort get wasted by covering half the room in drool.

He nodded to himself, then knocked on the door softly, telling Sumo to stay put. “Connor, you up?” There was not an answer, but when Hank pushed the door slightly open, he saw the boy sitting straight up in bed, watching him with wide, expectant eyes. Hank hadn’t called in advance; bringing Sumo was purely a spontaneous decision, but Connor looked like he somehow _knew. _

“Got somebody here that can’t wait to meet you,” Hank introduced nevertheless. The kid’s eyes went impossibly wider, mouth opening slightly.

“Sumo,” he breathed, almost shaking with anticipation. Hank looked over his shoulder at the dog, which was for some reason waiting patiently for the first time in his life. Of course, drool was already slipping out of his mouth in uncomfortably quantities. Hank gestured for him to come inside. Sumo looked at him, standing up and then walked into the room sluggishly. Connor stretched out his arms. Sumo paused in his step for only two seconds before deciding it was a good idea to jump up onto the bed, displaying the most exercise he’d done in most of the entire month.

“Oh Sumo, for crying out loud,” Hank groaned as the dog shoved his face close to Connor’s, sniffing curiously. If a nurse walked in now, Hank would be banned from the entire hospital permanently, police badge be damned. “Get the hell down!”

But Connor had already slung his arms around the dog’s thick neck, curling his fingers into the fur there. The boy seemed either unaware, or uncaring about the amount of drool Sumo was disposing onto his shoulder and pressed his cheek against the dog’s ear. The kid closed his eyes and smiled slightly for the first time since Hank had known him. Sumo gave a soft whine, pawing gently at the child and Hank wondered for a fleeting moment whether the dog remembered interacting with young boys a long time ago. Sumo lay down promptly, putting his head on the boy’s shoulder and staring expectantly, probably waiting for a good scratch behind the ears. For a long moment, nothing happened. Connor seemed perfectly fine having adult Saint Bernard splayed on top of him and it appeared as if he had forgotten Hank was even there.

Well, alright then.

“He’s so big,” Connor whispered, amazed. Hank raised his eyebrows. It was the longest sentence he’d heard from the boy. Sumo wagged his tail contently and gave a deep sigh. Hank couldn’t blame the dog. Connor wore a striking resemblance to the boy Sumo used to know. It hurt. It physically hurt. So Hank chose not to think about it.

“He’s twice your size,” He huffed instead.

“He’s a good dog,” Connor decided, raking his fingers over top of Sumo’s head.

“Have you ever had a dog?” Hank wondered.

Something happened in Connor’s eyes. A sadness, that Hank realized was always there, suddenly growing and his gaze darkened. The boy’s arms around the dog tightened and he took a hitching breath. He gripped onto Sumo’s neck firmly, pressing his face into the dog’s fur.

“Be quiet!” He hissed and Hank was almost sure he wasn’t talking to him or the dog.

“Hey, come on-”

“Be quiet!” Connor hissed again, breathing speeding up and hands clinging tightly to Sumo. “Be quiet! Don’t move!”

Sumo whined quietly, sniffing the boy’s face in confusion as tears streamed down Connor’s cheeks. Hank approached slowly, having learned that any sudden movement could set the kid off. He’d experienced things like this before, but that didn’t make it easier. “Connor, it’s okay,” he said calmly, keeping his voice soft and steady as he knelt down next to the bed, “you’re okay.”

“No!” Connor screamed, lost in a world of his own, “No! I wanna go home!”

Sumo barked anxiously, trapped in the boy’s frantic embrace. Hank swore the dog gave him an angry scowl. “You don’t have to answer any questions right now, okay?”

“I wanna go home!” the boy sobbed uncontrollably, heart rate speeding up to concerning levels.

“You need to calm down, bud,” Hank said evenly, “Just look at me.”

Connor shook his head frantically, “Be quiet,” he whispered, breath shuddering, “Don’t move.”

“Alright, we’ll be quiet,” Hank said with a sigh.

It took a while, but Connor’s vitals slowed and settled eventually, his hands tracing now familiar patterns over Sumo’s fur. An occasional sob shuddered out of his lungs and Hank felt his heart break for the distressed child. “You want me to go?”

Connor looked at him for a second, then shook his head. Sumo lay his head on the kid’s chest protectively, staring at Hank in dismay, as if he were the cause of the disruption of peace. Apparently the dog had already decided he belonged to Connor now.


	4. Triple Homicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-graphic description of murder. Be warned.

August 20, 2038

“Well, you ain’t gonna like it,” Chris mumbled, retrieving the stack of files from his bag. He was the kind of guy that took his work with him on his break. He looked tired; well, more than usual anyway. Having a new baby will do that to you. Hank offered him a bite of greasy cheeseburger.

“That is so gross,” Miller grimaced.

“And so good,” Hank grumbled, taking another big chomp off. Chris shook his head, placing the papers on the small standing table a few feet from the Chicken Feed. He took a small lunch box out of his bag after that, containing two sandwiches and an apple.

“Now, this is responsible food,” Chris informed his superior.

“Damn, is that tomato?” Hank asked, making a face.

“And lettuce,” Chris confirmed.

“That’s just torture,” Hank mumbled.

“Well, if you’d listen to me, you’d maybe live longer,” his partner japed.

“Whatever,” Hank sighed, eyeing the papers warily. It had taken Chris three days to comb through the missing person database. He had narrowed it down to this single file. Which was amazing, really, but Hank felt reluctant to hear the details. Chris followed his gaze and sighed as well, both of their food forgotten for the time being.

“Triple homicide,” Miller recalled, opening the file slowly, “Two adults, one child.”

“God damn,” Hank exhaled. The photos pretty much spoke for themselves. The man with dark hair that must have been the father was shot at point blank range in the chest, staring with unseeing eyes up at the camera. A woman, who looked to be fairly young, had sunk to the ground limply after a shot to the stomach. But the most horrifying was the young boy beside her, his face a permanent mask of horror as he stared with wide-open eyes at something nobody could see. He looked to be about eight and if it weren’t for the striking, icy-blue eyes, Hank could have sworn that was Connor.

“Daniel and Melissa Newman were murdered on March 2nd, 2035,” Chris listed off, “Their oldest, Milo Newman, a nine year old, was beaten and shot in the chest on the same day. The body of their youngest, Connor Newman, was never found and he has been listed as missing, but presumably dead ever since. The boy had just turned four.”

Hank promptly put down his burger, feeling decidedly nauseous as he stared at the photos. “We definitely got the right one,” he said thickly.

“I knew as soon as I saw the picture,” Chris nodded. “The case was never solved and has never been linked to the Sterns. It was common knowledge Daniel Newman owed a lot of money, but no one knew exactly to whom.”

Hank heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “So they came in, shot the guy. Then the wife and kid. So why not the youngest?”

“No idea,” Chris admitted.

“They have any friends or family in their contact list?”

“Empty.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Hank pushed away from the table, “This case is getting more and more fucked up.”

“Hear anything back from CPS?” Chris asked.

“Boy’s gonna be in DPD’s custody. Until we can confirm the Sterns aren’t gonna come looking for the kid, CPS is gonna back off. We’re being watched every step of the way though.”

“No surprise there.”

Hank gave an annoyed grunt, flipping to the next page of the file. He froze. There was a school picture of a young boy with large, shining brown eyes and a big smile, holding what looked like a Labrador puppy in his arms. Connor Newman was born on February 6 2031, registered as missing on May 3rd 2035\. Hank’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. The boy looked so happy, so innocent. He looked exactly the same as the child Hank visited every day at the hospital, but so, so much different at the same time. And Hank was getting afraid to know what happened in those three years. Was Connor there the night his family was killed? Did he see? Did he even realize what it meant?

Was Hank the one that had to tell him he could never go home?

It had been a while since he’d felt physically ill because of a case, but Hank guessed it was appropriate. Whatever the Stern’s had wanted or done with the boy, it had left its mark. Nurses reported Connor often getting upset, lashing out at himself in disturbing ways. It was not always entirely clear what could trigger the kid, but yesterday it had gone as far as having to restrain the boy and put him under.

Restraining a sick seven year old. What a world.

“Kid’s gonna be dismissed from hospital tomorrow,” Hank commented.

“Damn,” Chris said, “Then what?”

“Then he’s coming with me.”

Miller was visibly surprised by that and watched his partner with widened eyes, “Are you- Are you sure?”

Hank nodded, “Yep. I already have police outside scoping out my house. Not gonna send the kid to complete strangers. That would probably be disastrous.”

“No, I mean,” Chris mumbled, “Are _you _sure?”

Hank’s eyes narrowed, “Yes, _I’m _sure.”

Miller’s gaze dropped, recognizing the warning there. “Alright.”

“Ah, don’t be like that,” Hank pushed away from the table, throwing the leftovers of his burger into a nearby trashcan carelessly. “I’m not gonna be alone. Rose has offered to stay over as long as the boy’s there. They’re meeting each other today at the hospital.”

“That’s better, I guess,” Chris agreed.

“Thanks.”

“So, you and Rose. Still a casual thing?” Miller asked with a sly grin.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Luther Williams opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the throbbing pain in the back of his head. He tried to move his arms, but found they were stuck behind his back.

Great.

This is what he got for trying to be the good guy.

A slap in his face made him focus on the man in front of him. Luther shrunk into the chair he was sitting in. He should find the amount of rope they used to fasten him to it hilarious, but right now, he was terrified. Sterns did not take kindly to people messing with them.

And mess with them Luther had.

“You know what I’m gonna ask,” Zlatko grinned, rubbing one hand over the brass knuckles on the other. Luther just stared at him, not giving him an answer. Past Zlatko, he saw Amanda’s eyes glittering hatefully. Damn. She was here. Must be really serious then.

“Did you talk to the cops?” Zlatko asked. Luther regarded him with clear exasperation. He wasn’t quite sure where they had gotten this piece of bulking stupidity from, but he was getting bored by it very quickly. There had been a time where the Sterns had trusted _him _with jobs like this, but that time seemed long gone now.

“Why the fuck would I talk to the cops?” Luther spat, tasting the blood in his mouth.

“Well, excuse us for indulging in our own little investigation,” Elijah stepped out of the shadows next to his mother. “But I suppose all roads lead to Luther Williams eventually.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Luther grumbled, trying to flex his arms behind his back.

“We got no time for this,” Zlatko announced, punching Luther square in the jaw with the brass knuckles. Luther recoiled, his face throbbing now in the same rhythm as the back of his head.

“Tell us about the child,” Amanda’s icy voice cut through. She stepped forward, calm and collected, staring, always staring in cold disdain.

Luther’s mouth twitched, “You tell me about the child.”

“You are not in the position to make any demands,” Elijah informed him. “You know very well about the child.”

“He’s safe,” was all Luther said.

“How did you do it?” Elijah wondered. Luther’s eyes moved to the pistol in Zlatko’s belt and he swallowed nervously. Of course he knew what they were talking about. From the moment he’d seen the child in the house, he’d felt absolutely horrified about coming there. He’d cursed Todd for being Kara’s brother, otherwise Luther would have had nothing to do with the Sterns. But Todd had convinced him it was good money. That Luther only had to look at people and they’d be scared of him. That he wouldn’t actually have to indulge in any kind of violence. And Luther had shrugged, because God knew he could use the money. His job at the harbor was honest work, but didn’t pay for shit. Kara did what she could teaching first grade, but her salary was laughable. And life in Detroit was getting ridiculously expensive. But that didn’t mean that Alice didn’t deserve anything less than the other kids. So, albeit reluctantly, Luther had agreed to the job, learning quickly that earning the Sterns trust was not an easy feat. But his stoic, calm demeanor had apparently impressed and soon he was invited for a meeting in one of the family’s various residences in Detroit. It was there that he’d caught a fleeting glimpse of the boy, who had crossed him in the hallway upstairs, staring at him with large, haunted eyes. The child had been pale and bruised, a deep rooted fear nestled firmly in his eyes. Luther had stopped in his tracks towards the bathroom, a second, then two, and then the boy stormed off, panicked, only to be stopped by Zlatko, who suddenly appeared from one of the bedrooms. “You are supposed to be upstairs,” the man had growled at the boy, and the kid’s eyes grew wider, then he nodded and ran up the stairs. Luther hadn’t known what to think, but the more he came by the mansion, the more he began to suspect.

“I lied,” Luther shrugged, not seeing the point avoiding the truth any longer. There was no way the Sterns were going to let him live either way. It was clear that he was the one that had gone to the police to tip them off. That he was the one that then told the family to get up and moving. That he was the one responsible for the child still being in the house when the police did eventually get there. He clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to die. He’d wanted to flee to Canada with Kara and Alice. Had prepared to do so. But the Sterns caught him anyway.

“You lied?” Elijah didn’t seem angry, just curious.

“I told Todd I already moved the boy, Todd told Zlatko, and Zlatko told you, I presume,” Luther said calmly, seeing Zlatko nod out of the corner of his eye.

“Clever,” Elijah admitted.

“Where is he now?” Zlatko growled.

Luther regarded him for a second, “Judging by the way you treated him, I’d say the hospital is a good place to start looking.” Another punch to his face had Luther groaning, spitting a mouthful of blood beside him on the floor. He hoped to God that the boy was safe. That the police had actually found him. That there was hope for the child, now that he’d escaped.

Zlatko removed the weapon from his belt slowly and Luther thought about Alice. How he’d wanted to keep her safe. How much he loved his daughter, even if she wasn’t biologically his. How much he loved his wife. How much he’d missed them both when he was gone. How he could never explain to them what happened. Or what his role was in all of it. Or why he chose to save a lost child that had been locked in a dusty dark attic for most of his time.


	5. Bad Tomatoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, because I want to do an important flashback next chapter and it was getting too long to include into this one.

Connor watched the woman carefully. He didn’t know her, but she seemed friendly. She hadn’t said much beside her name since she got here. Rose. Connor thought that was a nice name. Miles didn’t.

“Who has a name like a stupid flower?” he had said and Connor had given him a glare. Then Miles had slid down against the wall, sulking, like he usually did. And Connor ignored him, like _he _usually did.

Rose had smiled at him, and was watching him patiently. She didn’t ask questions like Lieutenant Anderson did. Instead she began to talk about herself. That she had a son named Adam, who was going to college soon, that they lived on a farm, that she was concerned the tomatoes weren’t having a very good season this year. Connor only half listened, but remembered everything anyway. He always did. He petted Sumo’s head gently, focusing on the dog’s large, fluffy ears. He was very glad Rose had brought the dog. It probably meant she knew Lieutenant Anderson.

That was good. Connor liked Lieutenant Anderson, despite the difficult questions the man sometimes asked. The Lieutenant had gotten him away from… there. Maybe he could trust him, despite Miles’ insistence that they could trust absolutely no one ever. Connor looked at his brother from the corner of his eyes. Miles was pulling at a scab on his left knee, muttering something about stupid flowers.

Rose followed Connor’s gaze with a questioning look and Connor hurried to look back at her. He’d soon learned most people couldn’t see Miles in the same way he could, and whenever he tried to tell them, they’d get _really _angry. Connor shuddered. He didn’t like angry people. He didn’t like people in general.

The door opened slowly and Lieutenant Anderson stepped into the room. He always, without fail, came around at the same time each day. Connor liked that. The man had given him an old watch, so he could see at what time he would come around.

It was Connor’s now.

Lieutenant Anderson gave him a wide grin when he saw Sumo lying next to him. “Good thing he had a bath yesterday,” he commented.

Connor nodded. Sumo smelled exceptionally well today. The dog wagged his tail lazily upon seeing his owner, but didn’t bother getting up. Sumo liked lying in bed. Connor didn’t really. But he had no choice without his right leg. Lieutenant Anderson said that he could leave the hospital tomorrow and of course Connor had asked if he could finally go home then. Lieutenant always grew very quiet when Connor asked that, and Miles said it was because Lieutenant Anderson didn’t want them to go home. _Why? _Had Connor asked his brother, and Miles had shrugged, not answering.

The Lieutenant grabbed the chair he always sat in when he visited and pulled it next to Connor’s bed. Connor watched him cautiously. Lieutenant Anderson hadn’t actually ever hurt him, but he was a big man, and Connor couldn’t help but flinch back whenever he got too close. “I see you met my friend Rose,” he said, still smiling.

Connor nodded, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out to his brother, who had hammered on and on about how if Rose was visiting today, the Lieutenant probably wouldn’t bother to come. Now two people were here for Connor, and it felt… nice. “Rose has a farm,” he recalled. “With bad tomatoes.”

Rose smiled brightly, nodding, “Glad you remembered that.”

“You should water those tomatoes then,” Lieutenant Anderson told Rose.

Rose slapped his arm lightly, “You know nothing about farming, Hank.”

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow, but his smile remained, “You mean to say there’s more to farming than watering tomatoes?”

Rose laughed, “Sometimes I have to seed.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Rose turned to Connor, “It’s very interesting, I promise.”

Lieutenant Anderson humored her with a smile. He seemed very tired. He always did. There was a pain inside his eyes. Always there. Connor didn’t know why. Miles didn’t even know why. Connor supposed maybe people had hurt him. Miles didn’t care. “I get a new leg today,” Connor informed the Lieutenant.

The man’s eyes flitted to Connor’s right knee for a short second, then he smiled, “That’s good. I hope it fits.”

Connor nodded, “Then I can go home.”

He’d only said it to see how he would react. Lieutenant Anderson bit his bottom lip like he always did, then looked at Rose for support. Rose shook her head almost unnoticeably, but Connor saw anyways. Miles was watching them intently as well from where he sat against the wall. The man sighed deeply, rubbing his face with his hands tiredly, “Connor-”

“I wanna go home,” Connor said. It was what he had wanted for so long. He’d been so very patient. He’d understood that when you were sick, you had to go to the hospital. But now he was better, now he’d get a new leg. Now he’d go home.

“I know, Connor,” the Lieutenant sighed again.

“Sweetheart-” Rose cut herself off when Connor gave her a heated glare. Only Mommy could call him sweetheart, which was why nobody had called him sweetheart in a very, very long time.

“Connor,” Lieutenant Anderson tried again, “you’re not going home, buddy.”

Connor felt tears springing to his eyes immediately, but tried to push them back down. He wasn’t supposed to cry. Horrible things happened when he cried.

“I told you not to trust him!” Miles hissed, jumping up angrily.

Connor took a deep shuddering breath, trying to ignore his older brother as Miles quickly came closer. He felt his bottom lip tremble and bit down firmly, immediately tasting blood. “Why?” he asked in a thick voice.

Lieutenant Anderson’s hands went to his hair and he tugged slightly, then let go and looked back up, his eyes reddened. “You can’t go home, Con.”

“No!” Connor screamed, his heart thundering in his chest. He wasn’t supposed to get angry or upset. Horrible things would happen when he got angry or upset. But horrible things were already happening. “No! Why!”

Lieutenant Anderson wanted to calm him, but Connor threw his arms up defensively. He shook his head wildly, squeezing his eyes closed. They were talking to him, but he couldn’t heart them over Miles’ voice. “They’re angry!” Miles yelled, “They’re angry! It’s your fault!” Connor kept shaking his head, wheezing and gasping, stomping down a fist on his knee harshly. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. But it was the only way Miles would shut up. But Miles didn’t shut up. Miles reached out and grabbed Connor’s arm.

“You were supposed to be quiet!” he spat, “You were supposed to don’t move!”

_Be quiet! Don’t move!_


	6. Be Quiet, Don't Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with some very disturbing subjects, written from the POV of a four-year old. Discretion is advised.

_March 2nd, 2035_

_“Mom! Connor’s cheating!”_

_“Am not!”_

_“You are!”_

_“Am not!”_

_“I saw you!”_

_“Did not!”_

_“I did!”_

_“You lie!”_

_“I’m not lying! Mom!”_

_“Boys, quiet,” Daddy’s voice thundered._

_“But he cheated! I saw it! Mom!”_

_Connor glowered at his brother. Miles always won, it wasn’t fair! It was too hard anyway. Connor didn’t even like the game. It was stupid. Dominoes were stupid. “Don’ wanna play anymore!”_

_“Yeah, cos’ you cheated!”_

_“Did not!” Connor growled, hitting his brother on the arm. Miles was a lot bigger and stronger, so he had Connor in a headlock fairly soon. _

_“Milo, let go of your brother,” Mommy said calmly._

_“But he started hitting me!” Miles yelled, indignant. “Ugh, this is so unfair!”_

_“Well, you have to set the good example, Milo,” Mommy smiled, despite everything._

_“That’s stupid,” Miles sulked, crossing his arms as Connor threw the domino stones back in the box. Bonnie came over, curious what all the yelling was about. She sniffed the dominos that were still scattered on the floor, then looked up at Connor, who petted her on the head. _

_“I did not cheat, Bonnie,” he whispered to the dog._

_“He did though,” Miles hissed back._

_“I did NOT cheat!” Connor yelled._

_“Boys! For crying out loud!” Daddy said loudly. Then pointed to the stairs, “Go to your room. You two do not get to stay up late.”_

_“But it’s Friday,” Miles whined. “I wanna see Spiderman.”_

_“You should have thought of that before fighting with your brother.”_

_“But he CHEATED!”_

_“Did not!”_

_“Connor, that’s enough,” Daddy sighed, “Both of you, go upstairs.”_

_Both boys obliged reluctantly, shoving at each other as they ran up the stairs. Bonnie bounded after them cheerfully. The peace settled in after ten minutes. Connor was reading Bonnie a large picture book while Miles played a game on his phone. Bonnie seemed very interested, tilting her head as she listened to Connor’s story. Connor loved the dog more than anything. Maybe even more than Mommy, although he’d never say that out loud. No. Probably the same amount. She’d slept in his bed ever since they’d brought her home a few months ago. She was a very good dog._

_Mommy came to say goodnight a little later, kissing Connor on the forehead and saying ‘happy dreams,’ like always. She said the same to Miles, although he didn’t say it back, because he was too cool for that. Connor put an arm around Bonnie and drifted off, feeling the dog breathing against his chest._

_He awoke on Bonnie’s high pitched bark. There were voices downstairs and when Connor blinked the sleep out of his eyes he could see Miles hovering nervously by their bedroom door. “Miles?” he asked._

_“There’s people downstairs,” Miles said quickly._

_Connor listened. It didn’t sound like Mommy and Daddy, and that was weird. But then he heard Daddy’s voice, and he sighed in relief. “Maybe they have a party?”_

_Miles frowned at that suggestion, clearly disagreeing. “They were yelling just now.”_

_Connor clutched Bonnie close, looking at Miles with wide eyes, “They fighting?”_

_“I dunno,” Miles said, looking at the closed door. “Maybe we should look.”_

_“We’re not supposed to go downstairs,” Connor reminded him, “It’s not light outside yet.”_

_“That doesn’t matter, you idiot,” Miles hissed._

_Connor glared at him, but didn’t move. Bonnie was whining softly, straining to get out from Connor’s grip. Connor let her go and she jumped off the bed to stand next to Miles. “I wanna sleep,” Connor informed._

_“What if they’re robbers?” _

_“What’s that?”_

_“It’s when people come in and steal all your stuff.”_

_“Everything?” Connor’s eyes widened and he looked at Bonnie._

_“Yes!” Miles said pointedly._

_Connor scrambled to get out of his bed, running over to Miles and Bonnie. He grabbed Bonnie by her collar, “Not Bonnie!” He said, upset._

_“Come on,” Miles urged, finally opening the door and sneaking down the hallway. Connor trailed after him, his bare feet cold on the tiled floor. He’d hoisted Bonnie into his arms and tried to avoid the dog licking his face. Every step forward was scarier than the last. Miles was very brave; he was never scared and knew everything. But Connor wished his brother wouldn’t keep convincing him to join when things got scary. _

_They were halfway down the stairs when they heard a voice from the living room bark, “Who else is here?” Connor heard his mother gasp, saying something in a smothered, crying voice. His feet instantly got so much colder and he felt his legs begin to shake as a sob lodged in his throat. It took all he had not to let out a frightened whimper. The two boys stood frozen on the stairs, neither knowing what to do next. Then Mommy raced out of the living room and up the stairs, grabbing onto both of Miles upper arms firmly. Miles shrieked slightly, his eyes widening. _

_“Milo, take your brother to your bedroom and hide in the closet. Be quiet. Don’t move.”_

_“Mom?” Miles said instead, his voice on the verge of breaking down._

_“Now, Milo, go!” Mommy urged, letting him go. Miles stared for a second longer, and then nodded stiffly. He grabbed onto Connor’s arm, turning him around as he sneaked back up the stairs. Connor’s legs felt like they were made of lead, and he felt the tears stream down his cheeks. Miles pulled him towards their bedroom and they rushed towards the closet door. _

_“Get in,” Miles mumbled. Connor sobbed, shaking his head. Getting in the closet seemed a very very bad idea. Bonnie whined, seemingly also appalled by the idea._

_“This is important, Connor!” Miles hissed, pulling open the door and shoving his brother inside. Connor stumbled, feeling his summer coat hitting the top of his head. He wanted to cry out loud, feeling the telltale involuntary spasms in his chest as he gasped for breath. Miles climbed into the closet after him, shrouding everything in darkness as he pulled the door closed. _

_“Be quiet,” Miles whispered, “Don’t move.”_

_Connor pressed his lips into a thin line and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the sobs that were wrecking his small frame quiet. It hurt. It really really hurt. Connor wanted Mommy to come in and scoop him up. To press a kiss to his forehead and tell him it was all just a misunderstanding. That people wouldn’t come in and steal everything. That he got to keep Bonnie, and his toys and his bed. His fingers played with Bonnie’s ear and he put the thumb of his other hand into his mouth. It was something he wasn’t supposed to do anymore now that he was four, but he was so scared. Fortunately Miles couldn’t see him in the darkness to tell Mommy. A loud sound suddenly echoed through the house and Connor and Miles both gasped. Connor let out the whimper he’d been holding in the entire time. Bonnie barked. _

_“Be quiet,” Miles hissed, trembling beside his brother, “Don’t move.” Connor bit into his lip harshly, tasting blood. Bonnie was trying to wriggle out of his grip. People were shouting downstairs and Connor wanted everything to just stop. Then Mommy screamed._

_Bonnie had had enough, snarling at Connor so he would let her go. Connor tried to hold onto her, he really did, but she managed to get free anyway. Bonnie stumbled and fell out of the closet. Connor lunged for her, but Miles grabbed and squeezed his arm. “No! Don’t move!”_

_“I’m getting Bonnie!” Connor cried._

_“Connor!” Miles sounded angry when Connor wrenched his arm out of his grasp. He was just going to get Bonnie and get back into the closet. His feet hit the soft carpet, made to look like grass. Bonnie was cowering under Connor’s bed, whining in distress. Connor knelt, crawling on his hands and knees as he reached for his dog. He jumped violently when he felt hands on his back._

_“Come on,” Miles growled, tugging on the hem of Connor’s pajama shirt. _

_“Bonnie, come!” Connor called to the black Labrador, reaching out his arm. Bonnie’s eyes were glittering as she stared at him, but she didn’t move. The door opened, slamming against the wall and both brothers froze in fear. A large man stepped inside and looked around. Mommy was next to him; her face wet with tears. The man grabbed onto her hair and pushed her forward. Connor wanted to rush and cling to her, but he couldn’t move. The man held a gun to Mommy’s head, not much unlike the toy ones Miles used to have but didn’t play with anymore. There was no big orange nob on the end of this one, though. _

_“Knew they were in here, you bitch!” the Man growled, pushing Mommy further into the room._

_“Please!” she cried, holding her hands high and looking at Miles and Connor._

_“You know the deal,” the Man grumbled._

_“Not them!” Mommy pleaded, turning on her heels and falling to her knees, “Please, I’ll do anything!”_

_“You rats should have thought of that before missing six payments!” the Man yelled and both Connor and Miles shrunk back in fear. Connor saw a part of Mommy’s white blouse was now colored red, and he whimpered miserably. _

_“I can get the payments next week, we already told you!” Mommy shrieked, “We got two more clients pending!”_

_“Too late, miss,” the Man said. Connor heard a clicking sound he would never forget. The man moved the aim from his pistol from Mommy’s head to Miles’ chest. Miles jumped in shock, shaking his head wildly as the rest of his body stiffened. _

_“Mom?” he cried, tears pouring down his cheeks and chin, looking back at Mommy with large blue eyes._

_Mommy had lowered her arms to her side, looking at Miles with a defeated expression, “It’s okay, baby,” she said softly, “Close your eyes.”_

_“No no no no no no,” Miles whimpered, but closed his eyes nevertheless. For a few moments, nothing happened. Time was frozen and Connor wished he was still in the closet. Then the man pulled the trigger and the loudest sound Connor had ever heard filled the room. The sound was short, but Connor was sure he’d gone deaf. He didn’t hear anything as Mommy rushed forward, then fell back. Miles mouth opened wide, like he was screaming. Connor grabbed at his head, the ringing in his ears getting louder and louder. Miles fell to his knees, crawling over to where Mommy had fallen. He cried and grabbed at her chest, a red stain growing bigger and bigger. Connor blinked, and then suddenly, Miles was laying next to Mommy, gasping and grasping at his chest, the same kind of red stain spreading through his pajamas. Connor screamed, but didn’t hear his own voice. He turned around and ran through the still open door. He had to find Daddy. He had to get out. It was late. So very, very late. Connor had never been up this late. Connor had never run this fast. He flew down the stairs, yelping as another gunshot splintered the railing next to him. He ducked, making it through the kitchen and lunging for the backdoor. His hand made it to the doorknob, and then there was an indescribable pain in his right leg. He cried out, tumbling down the steps that led to the back door and falling face-first into the grass._

_“Fast one, aren’t you?” Another, smaller, man said calmly as Connor tried to crawl away into the bushes on the side of the path. His heart was stumbling and beating into his throat instead of his chest. Connor wished he could fly away, just spread his arms and soar on the wind. The grass was cold and wet, the water seeping through Connor’s pants and making his teeth chatter. _

_“Go grab him,” the smaller man sounded annoyed, almost bored. Connor gasped and flailed as an arm circled around his waist. He kicked and screamed, frantic and wild as he dug his fingers into the earth, trying to push away but noticing that his right leg wouldn’t cooperate. _

_The arm lifted him up easily, despite his struggle, “You sure you wanted this one?”_

_“Feisty, isn’t he?”_

_“I’ll say,” the larger man grumbled, holding Connor at arm’s length. Connor felt something warmer than rain pour down his leg. He screamed, hoping Daddy or someone else could hear him and save him. But nobody came. The men carried him to a big van, opening the back doors and shoving him inside. Connor wanted to get up and rush out before they could close the doors, but his leg was uselessly and he couldn’t stand. He clutched at the hole in his shin, crying, but not really feeling the pain. The van came to life with a dangerous roar and Connor shrunk back in the darkness. He had never felt so horrible. So alone. So scared. And nobody was here. He curled up slowly, suddenly feeling very tired. He cried for Mommy and for Daddy, for Bonnie and even for Miles. He cried til he was too tired to cry, sniffling as he closed his eyes. _

_Strangely enough, Connor dreamt of nothing that night._


	7. Downright Creepy

The boy remained quiet on the ride over to the house. Hank was driving and Rose and Connor were on the backseat. Connor hadn’t said a word to anybody since yesterday. Not even when doctor Hinsworth presented him with a new prosthetic. But after what happened yesterday, Hank didn’t want to push him.

He’d never seen anything like that. He knew talking about any sort of trauma was a very delicate subject, especially with children, but the way Connor had reacted was… something else. It all but confirmed Hank’s fears of the boy being present on that fateful night his family got killed.

The moment Hank had said that he couldn’t go home, Connor had changed from a quiet, but cooperative kid, into a violent and frightened animal. He’d screamed and thrashed, so horribly upset that nobody seemed able to get through to him.

_Be quiet, don’t move._

Those words again. Over and over and over. Like a record stuck in his head. At the very worst point, the boy couldn’t breathe, clawing at his throat with his nails digging deeply into his skin. And no matter what, he didn’t calm down. Hank thought it was madness. Rose said the boy bordered on a psychosis. They tried talking to him; soothing meaningless words. Sumo even tried licking his face. When that didn’t work and Connor began to hurt himself, they’d had no choice but to hold him down, having to ignore the boy’s agonized wails, the tears that poured down his face and the desperate begging to please, please don’t hurt him. Hank was about ready to shoot himself when the nurse and doctor _finally _came in to sedate the boy. Connor’s struggle had gotten weaker and weaker, valiantly fighting unconsciousness but ultimately defeated as his eyes rolled shut and his body became limp.

Hank never wanted to see anything like that again.

When Connor woke up, he was… different. Hank could only describe it as a stoic absence. The kid didn’t talk, and instead just stared. He’d _maybe _nod or shake his head when you asked a simple question, but that would be all you’d get. Doctor Hinsworth had brought a fancy looking new prosthetic, had worked with the boy for a bit. Connor did what she asked, but nothing more. He’d nod or shrug, and that was it. But he’d only stumbled for a little while before he knew how to work with it.

Hank sighed, putting on the radio to not go crazy completely in the silence. Rose and Connor were cramped up in one corner of the backseat, while Sumo took up the rest of the space. The dog was drooling on Connor’s lap, but the boy didn’t seem to mind, absently stroking a hand over the dog’s head while staring out of the window at the city outside. He expressed no emotion whatsoever; no awe, no excitement, no fear. Hank wondered when the last time was that Connor had actually been outside.

It was late in the afternoon when they arrived at the house. Connor’s eyes flew over the parked cars with police officers cooped up inside of them, supposedly inconspicuous, but noticed by a seven year old all the same.

“You’ll get used to them,” Hank mumbled, turning off the engine.

They got out of the car slowly. Connor watched the ground for a few seconds, and then walked towards the house without a word; a slight limp noticeable that would be forever in his step. Hank glanced at Rose, who looked back at him with a sad smile. He had no idea what they were going to do with this kid. Or how _he _of all people had gotten in way over his head with this one.

Connor waited patiently at the front door, not looking back when Hank reached out around him to put the key in the lock. The door opened with a creak and Sumo rushed inside, checking his bowl and lying down beside it begrudgingly when he noticed it was empty.

“Go on,” Hank grunted, gesturing for Connor to go inside. The boy walked into the living room like he was on auto-pilot, coming to a halt in the middle of the room.

“Alright,” Hank said, clearing his throat. “Couch is old, but hella comfy if you ask me. You can watch TV if you like. Food’s in the kitchen, though I think we’ll have to wait for anything healthy until tomorrow when Rose comes back from the farm. Bathroom’s around the corner and the guest bedroom, _your room, _is one door further back…” Hank trailed off, watching the boy, who was staring at the wall motionlessly.

“You, eh… you wanna sit down?”

Connor’s eyes moved to the couch, and then he sat down slowly. He put his hands on his knees, his back straight and his gaze forward. Hank bit his lip, then he stepped forward, “Alright, gimme your coat.”

The boy regarded him for a moment, then shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Hank before returning his gaze to the wall. Hank sighed, giving Rose a helpless look, “TV on,” he mumbled. The television sprang to life, and Hank was glad for the background noise, even though he knew Connor wasn’t going to watch it.

He walked into the kitchen and sank down on a chair, watching Rose do the same, “What are we gonna do?” he said quietly.

“Keep him safe,” Rose replied, “Right now that’s our job. Whatever else we can do is bonus.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hank said, his shoulders sagging. “Is he gonna be like this the whole time?” He motioned to Connor on the couch.

“Maybe he just has to acclimate for a bit.”

“Come on, this is downright creepy.”

“He’s been through more than either of us can imagine.”

“I know,” Hank relented, leaning back, “I really appreciate you stepping in to help out.”

“I’m not gonna leave you to deal with this alone, although I was quite shocked when you stepped up to the plate.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You were right though,” Rose pointed out, “He’s got nowhere else to go.”

“We’re still trying to determine if he’s got any relatives left at all, but it doesn’t look hopeful.”

“He’ll find a home eventually.”

Hank shuddered at the thought of a child like Connor in foster care, but didn’t say anything. The boy hadn’t moved a muscle after sitting on the couch, his posture rigid and his face blank. Hank cleared his throat again, calling into the living room, “Connor, you want something to drink?”

No answer.

He tried a different tactic, “You want some lemonade?”

Connor moved his head slowly to look at Hank, contemplated the question for a second and then nodded. Then his eyes widened as if he’d done something wrong, upon which his head shot back to resume staring at the wall.

Hank took a glass from the cupboard, filled it with syrup before holding it under the tap. He walked into the living room, crouching down in front of the boy on the couch, holding out the glass in front of him.

Connor took it hesitantly, nodding his thanks. Hank watched him for a moment as the kid took a small sip. “You okay?” Connor immediately nodded.

“Your leg feel okay?” Another nod.

“Would you tell me if it wasn’t okay?”

The boy’s brow furrowed in confusion. That question was a little too difficult, so he shrugged.

“That’s honesty, I appreciate that,” Hank smiled at him. “You have to take it off when you go to bed, you remember that, right?”

Connor nodded and took a bigger sip. Hank knew the lemonade was much too sweet, but he wanted to indulge the boy. The kid was skin over bones. Hank felt his chest tighten, just looking at him. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.”

The boy looked back at him, large brown eyes searching before looking down. “I wanna sleep,” he whispered.

Hank nodded slowly, “Yeah, it’s been a long day,” he said, ignoring the fact it was only six, “I’mma show you your room.”


	8. Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeey, finally made another chapter. Sorry about the lack of updates. Life's been a bit busy. I'm planning to update my other story fairly soon too, but it's proven to require a bit of research.

It was busy at the police station. Connor looked with wide eyes at the reception desks. Androids, Lieutenant Anderson had said. Connor had seen androids before, but that was a long time ago. He stumbled slightly as the Lieutenant pushed him forward.

“Hank Anderson checking in,” Hank mumbled. The android blinked then looked at Connor, “this is Connor, he’s with me.”

The android tilted its head slowly, “I have no record on Hank Anderson being accompanied by a child.”

“Tough,” Hank said, his face twisting in an impatient sneer, “He’s here on my authority.”

“Very well,” the android said pleasantly, “Have a nice day at work.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Hank grumbled, leading Connor through the detection gates and into the bullpen. “Hate those fucking things.”

Connor looked back at the desks. He didn’t hate androids. He found them fascinating. They looked so real, but they didn’t need sleep or food and they were never sad or scared. He’d always wanted to have an android, but Daddy hated them. Said they made him lose his job at the train station. Lieutenant Anderson still had a job, so it was a mystery to Connor why he’d hate androids so much. “Why?” he asked therefore.

“There’s something off about them,” the Lieutenant said, and that was all the explanation Connor got.

When they got to his desk, Lieutenant Anderson pointed to the chair, and then grabbed another at the empty desk across. The Lieutenant’s desk was covered in stickers, empty donut boxes and burger wrappers. There was the tiniest tree Connor had ever seen sitting on the edge of the desk, clearly dying. Connor wondered why the Lieutenant had it. He didn’t seem like the man that was very much into plants.

“Whaddaya wanna do?” Anderson asked, eyebrows raised. “I can get you some coloring pencils and paper?”

Connor nodded. It seemed as good of an activity as any. Rose was coming a little later, Lieutenant Anderson had said. Rose wanted to talk. Connor really didn’t. So until then, coloring some pictures seemed like a nice idea. The lieutenant came back with a coloring book and pencils and pointed at a room. “I know you like to be on your own, but at least I can keep an eye on you if you sit in there,” he said. Connor looked over at the glass conference room and nodded, taking the coloring book and pencils and walking slowly across the bullpen. A few officers looked up with a frown, another few tried to smile at him. The rest ignored him.

He sat down slowly and opened the book. A lot of the pictures were already colored and Connor wondered if the Lieutenant gave this book to all the children that came to the police station. Whatever the case, they were all really bad colorists, Connor thought. He didn’t look up as Miles sat down in the chair next to him. He was leaning over the table, intently watching Connor sift through the pages. He didn’t say anything and for a moment, everything was quiet in Connor’s head. He decided on a mostly uncolored picture of a dinosaur, grabbed a green pencil and started coloring.

“I think brown is better,” Miles commented.

“Shut up,” Connor mumbled.

Miles didn’t listen. He never did. “Everyone always colors dinosaurs green. It’s stupid. They were probably grey or brown or something.” Connor shook his head, but did take the brown pencil instead. He decided he would ignore any other comments on his color choices though.

About halfway through his work, Connor noticed the door slowly opening. A girl stepped into the room, looking at him curiously. She had long stockings, a colorful shirt and a small pigtail. Her large brown eyes observed him for a second before she decided to come closer. Connor stiffened; the pencil in his hand stilling.

“Hi,” the girl said.

Connor nodded, turning back to his picture.

“What are you doing?”

He sighed, because it was a stupid question. It was obvious what he was doing, “Coloring,” he mumbled.

“Cool,” the girl commented. “I’m Alice.”

“C’nnor,” Connor said in a rushed tone.

“Are you shy?” Alice wondered, still looking at him curiously, “It’s okay to be shy,” she quickly added.

Connor shrugged, slowly dragging his pencil over the picture, not pushing hard enough for it to be effective.

“How old are you?” Alice asked. Connor frowned. How many more questions was she going to ask him? Miles, for his part, stayed silent, but Connor noticed the distrust in his eyes.

“Seven,” Connor answered, not looking at the girl.

“So you’re in first grade?” Alice said. Connor shrugged again.

“I’m going to fourth grade,” Alice informed proudly, “I’m nine and a half.”

“Okay,” Connor mumbled.

“That’s a cool picture,” Alice pointed out, “A brown dinosaur. I like it.”

Connor looked up at her for a second, then turned his attention back to the picture, “Thanks.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m with Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Is he your dad?”

“No.”

Alice paused, clearly contemplating his answer. Then she decided to ignore it, “I’m here with my Mom. My dad’s missing. We’re really worried.”

“That sucks,” Connor said.

“Yeah,” Alice nodded, “maybe your dad can find my dad?”

“He’s not my dad,” Connor said again, irritated.

“Okay,” Alice said, rocking back on her heels, “where are your parents?”

Connor bit his lip. Miles’ face twisted in anger. “I dunno.”

Alice gasped, “Are you lost?”

“No!” Connor said, indignant, “I stay with Lieutenant Anderson.” Alice shut up for a few moments, clearly not understanding. Connor supposed he didn’t understand very well either. For a long while, he’d belonged to Elijah and Zlatko in the attic. He guessed he belonged to Lieutenant Anderson now. He wondered what that meant. He wondered if it was going to hurt.

“Alice?” a female voice came from the doorway. A woman with short brown hair and blue eyes looked at Alice questioningly and Alice gave her a big smile.

“I’m coming, Mom,” she said, “You don’t have to come looking for me all the time.”

“You get lost more often than I care for,” the woman said, but smiled nevertheless. Her eyes moved to Connor. Her smile remained, but her brow furrowed curiously.

“You make a new friend, Alice?” she asked without looking away from Connor.

Alice nodded confidently, “His name is Connor, he’s seven.” Connor didn’t say anything. He didn’t like the way the woman was scrutinizing him. Miles didn’t either. He was hopping nervously from one foot to the other next to the table.

“He’s shy,” Alice shrugged, turning away from him. The woman nodded slightly, but didn’t turn around. Connor frowned back at her before his eyes widened and he quickly tugged his long sleeves over the fading bruises on his arms. That only seemed to make matters worse as the woman came closer and knelt in front of him.

“You okay, sweetie?” she asked and Connor saw Alice watching from the doorway.

He nodded quickly, gripping his pencil tighter to hide his trembling hands. He didn’t know this woman. Maybe she was a friend of Lieutenant Anderson, but he couldn’t be sure. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

“No one can know,” Miles hissed in his ear, “No one can know, or there will be repercussions.”

Connor swallowed, ignoring the woman with all his might. Eventually the woman seemed to understand he didn’t want to talk to her and she stood up. “It was nice to meet you, Connor,” she said with a small, slightly sad smile.

Connor gave a barely noticeable nod, keeping his eyes on the paper in front of him. The woman turned around and left the room together with Alice. Both Connor’s and Miles’ shoulders sagged with relief. Miles was right. Nobody can know.

From the corner of his eye though, he saw the woman walk into Rose in the hallway. They talked to each other for a moment and Connor’s heart nearly stopped when the woman gestured to him, and then to her own arms in the middle of their conversation. They were talking about him. He saw Rose nod with an apologetic look in her eyes and Alice turned to look directly at him, a shocked, disturbed expression on her face.

They knew.

“What did you do?” Miles moaned, grasping his head in his hands as he bent over the table. Connor sat frozen beside him, still holding the pencil stiffly in his hand. He felt himself beginning to shake. He swatted at the fading bruises on his arms. It was all their fault. They’d turned from purple to yellow in the time since he’d left the attic, but they were still clearly visible. He felt his heart pound in his ears as an indescribable anger rose from deep within him. It was always there, he knew, but right now, it was boiling up and over; unreasonable and primal.

Connor gasped, slamming a flat hand down onto the dinosaur picture before curling his hand into a fist and crumpling up the paper. A smothered shout left his mouth as he hurled the paper across the room. He didn’t deserve to have a coloring book, even if it was already mostly filled in by someone else. His hands jerkily grabbed at the other pages of the book, crumpling and tearing them while he gasped and sobbed. He threw them away angrily until even the cover of the book was ripped to shreds and scattered across the room. He was panting, standing next to the table, his chair fallen over behind him. He looked at his shaking hands. He wasn’t sure at whom or why he was angry, but that didn’t seem to matter.

He couldn’t have coloring pencils either, so he picked them up clumsily one by one, snapped them in half and throwing them over the table. He was crying freely now, struggling to loosen the watch around his wrist that Lieutenant Anderson had given him. He took it off and slammed it against the table before he felt arms snake around his armpits and pull him back.

“Alright Connor, that’s enough,” the Lieutenant’s gruff voice sounded calm and contrasted so much with the way Connor was feeling at the moment that he shook his head wildly.

“No!” he shouted, managing to crash the watch against the table once more.

“Hey, stop it!” Lieutenant Anderson said, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice.

“I can’t have it!” Connor yelled. Why didn’t the Lieutenant understand that?

“Alright, alright,” the man said, letting him go and holding up his hand, “Give it back to me then, but stop slamming it on the table, you’re gonna get glass-splinters in your hand.”

Connor hesitated for a moment before handing over the old, now dented watch. A new wave of panic washed over him. That was Lieutenant Anderson’s watch. And he’d completely broken it. There would be repercussions. He began to gasp again, taking a few stumbling steps backwards. He almost fell over, only caught by the wall as his back connected with it. He looked up at the Lieutenant in fear. He was angry, Connor knew. So very, very angry. Connor felt his own anger slowly seep from his body until only fear was left. Rose came in behind the Lieutenant, but Connor barely noticed her, his eyes only focused on the large man in front of him.

Lieutenant Anderson came closer slowly, his hands held up in front of him and his back hunched. He knelt in front of Connor and Connor tried to press himself further into the wall, confused. He scanned the man’s face, unsure, and his eyes flitted to the door as he planned his escape.

“It’s okay, Connor,” the Lieutenant said, turning his gaze away from Connor and sitting crosslegged on the floor with a small groan. “I’m not mad.”

Connor swallowed, his eyes going to Rose, who stood behind the Lieutenant and gave him a reassuring smile before coming to sit next to the man on the floor. “You wanna sit with us here for a minute?”

Connor bit his lip, looking beside him at Miles who was already sitting on the floor and nodding frantically. He felt his heart finally calm down as he slowly slid down the wall to the floor. He watched his hands on his lap for a moment before looking outside. Alice and her Mom were gone and it made him feel a little bit better.

“Alright, good,” Rose said with a smile when Connor looked at her, “Nothing bad is gonna happen, okay? We’re just gonna talk.” Connor looked from her to the Lieutenant, uncertain. Then he shook his head.

“I know you don’t like to talk,” Rose continued, the smile still on her face, “But sometimes it’s necessary, do you understand?” Connor frowned, then stubbornly shook his head again.

“Do you find it hard to talk?” Rose asked. That was an easy question. Connor shook his head.

“No?” Rose clarified, “are you scared to talk?”

_No one can know, _Miles’ voice echoed in his mind. Connor nodded hesitantly.

“What will happen if you talk?” Rose said. Connor shrugged. He couldn’t predict the future, could he?

“I’ll make it easier,” Rose smiled, “I’ll only ask questions you can answer by nodding or shaking your head, would that be alright?”

Connor nodded, his eyes going to his fingers as they drew familiar and calming patterns on his leg.

“Alright, you’re doing really well, Connor,” Rose reassured him and from the corner of his sight, Connor saw Lieutenant Anderson nod in confirmation. “We wanna make sure you’re safe and that we can protect you. And we can do that a lot better if we know a little bit more about you, does that make sense?”

Connor nodded at his lap, following his moving fingers with his eyes. Sure that made sense. But that didn’t mean they could know.

“You said you were scared to talk, and I understand that,” Rose said softly, “is someone going to hurt you when you talk?”

Connor bit his lip, not looking up as he nodded slowly.

“Have they hurt you before?”

Connor nodded again, willing his fingers to stop shaking as they moved over his leg.

“Did they hit and kick you?” Rose questions were calm and soft.

Connor pressed his eyes shut; bad memories dancing through his mind in a parade of pictures. He suppressed another sob and nodded slightly.

“Did they do… other things too? Things that may not have hurt, but didn’t feel very good either?” Rose spoke slowly, a bit of hesitation in her voice. The question was vague, but Connor thought that he somehow knew what she meant regardless. He nodded slightly. His breaths began to come in quick gasps again and he clenched his fists into the fabric of his faded jeans.

Rose’s face fell a little and she swallowed. Lieutenant Anderson closed his eyes for a moment. Nobody said anything for a long second. Connor felt the tears slide down his cheeks and he sniffled, his breaths shaky and jerking. “No more questions,” he whispered.

“Okay,” Rose agreed with a small nod, “You did really well Connor.”

Connor moved his eyes to the mess of paper and pencil remnants on the floor and on the table. Shame slammed down onto his shoulders and he quickly looked down again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Lieutenant Anderson took a deep breath and let it out slowly before getting up and extending a hand to Connor. “It’s alright. We’ll figure it out, kid.”


	9. Phantom Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter -shoves-

_Connor was shivering; fever wrecking every inch of his frame. He grunted through another wave of pain, squeezing his eyes closed and throwing his head back as he fought not to scream out. _

_Hands were holding him down, unwrapping the yellow-brown colored gauze around his leg. Connor whimpered as the smell hit his nose. His leg screamed at him, taunting and urgent. Like it was laughing at him. It had swelled up to almost twice its size, even after they removed the bullet from it. And it hurt so much. Connor didn’t think anything could ever hurt this much. He’d glared at it, swatted at it, eventually just dug his nails into it, because why wouldn’t it JUST STOP? _

_“Goddamnit, stay the fuck still!” a gruff voice grunted, pushing him down harshly against the table. _

_“It hurts!” Connor sobbed uncontrollably. The hands on his shoulders tightened painfully and he stayed as still as possible. _

_“Fuck, look at this shit,” Zlatko, the large man, said._

_“Doesn’t seem like the antibiotics are working,” Elijah mentioned calmly, pressing gloved fingers against Connor’s skin near to the hole in his leg. “Tell Randy thanks for his handy work.”_

_“Fuck that. I didn’t tell him to shoot.”_

_“I am disappointed.”_

_“I got you the kid, didn’t I?”_

_“Most of him, I suppose.”_

_“You’re welcome.”_

_“Amanda will also be disappointed,” Elijah commented pointedly and Connor felt the hands on his shoulders falter slightly._

_“Has she said anything?”_

_“She will be reviewing the boy shortly.”_

_“Fuck,” Zlatko grunted, taking a minute to think, “What’s his temp?”_

_“103.6,” Elijah mumbled, “He’s getting up there. But it’s not uncommon for a four year old.”_

_“What about the leg?”_

_“That doesn’t look promising at all,” Elijah replied, still pushing into Connor’s leg, “I can keep treating it with antibiotics, but once gangrene sets in…”_

_“Gross,” Zlatko mumbled. Connor wondered what gangrene was. Would it hurt as badly as this? Would it smell as badly as this? He shrieked when Elijah’s fingers came too close to the wound. He knew he wasn’t supposed to kick, but he couldn’t help it. Burning, crippling pain fired up and down his leg and he screamed. _

_“For fuck’s sake!” Zlatko growled, pressing his forearm against Connor’s throat. “I may as well just shoot him through the head. We’ll get another one.”_

_“No,” Elijah said, “We’ll deal with it.”_

_“He’s gonna be dead in a week anyway.”_

_“If you want to remind Amanda of our track record, be my guest.”_

_Zlatko hesitated, then let go of Connor’s throat. “So I assume you have a plan.”_

_“If flesh is dead or invested, there’s always the simple way out.”_

_After a moment, Zlatko answered, “You think Amanda would agree to a crippled subject?”_

_“I think she would love one.”_

_Connor remembered being hauled to the attic once again, but didn’t remember going to sleep. He longed for Bonnie to be pressed against him. How her soft breaths would soothe him. Did they shoot her too? Or was she still under the bed? Connor didn’t know how long he’d been away from home now. Were they looking for him? Maybe Mommy or Daddy had called the police? Maybe they knew that Connor hadn’t wanted to go with these men? Maybe Mommy would come into the attic one day and pick him up and smile and kiss him and bring him home? Yes, Connor nodded to himself as he fell asleep. He would wait for that. _

_Waking up was very hard. Connor felt like he couldn’t move. His leg, which had been throbbing and shooting with pain before, didn’t hurt so badly anymore. It was like the pain was muted, somehow. Maybe it was getting better? He tried to move his toes, but they wouldn’t respond. He squinted in the dark, staring at his fingertips as he lay on his side on the old blankets in the attic. He willed them to move, but they barely twitched. His body felt incredibly hot and his breathing came in labored, strained gasps. He was scared. But he really wasn’t._

_“It won’t take long,” a young voice said from behind him._

_Connor couldn’t turn around, but he knew who the voice belonged to anyway. He was too tired to answer, letting his head fall back to the self-made pillow on the floor._

_“It won’t hurt.”_

_Connor smiled deliriously. He’d hoped it wouldn’t hurt. He took deep, rattling breaths and closed his eyes._

_“Stay with me,” he whispered to the dark._

_“Always,” the dark answered._

_And that was so soothing. Connor felt his body become heavier, like he was suddenly very very tired. He barely heard the voices downstairs and if he used a bit of his imagination, he could pretend like they were Mommy and Daddy laughing at a TV show. Like they were him and Miles and Bonnie, playing in the backyard, watching Bonnie jump into the dirty pond and shake herself out without a care in the world. He could almost feel Bonnie against his chest as he fell asleep, and Mommy’s lips as they pressed against his forehead, smiled and then wished him good night. _

_And it wasn’t until hands grabbed him that he remembered where he was. They were gentler than normally; they scooped him up and carried him down. Elijah’s face was serious as he placed him on the table. He put a needle in Connor’s leg, not knowing that Connor already couldn’t feel it anymore. Connor tried to smile at him to tell him he didn’t feel sick anymore, but he was too tired. He lay limply on the table, watching Elijah prepare. _

_Elijah spoke to somebody on the computer, but Connor only half heard what was said._

_“106.4, there’s no other way.”_

_“Then what…”_

_“I’ll do it myself…”_

_“Can’t give…. Unlicensed…”_

_“Must be local then…”_

_Then a band was wrapped around his upper leg and Connor felt THAT. He jerked up, grabbing clumsily at the thing as it tightened and set his leg on fire. _

_“You’ll only make it harder on yourself, boy,” Elijah said, pushing him back down._

_Connor shook his head, suddenly feeling his heart pounding in his throat. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he knew it would be horrible. Elijah looked at him, eyebrows raised as he poked at the large portion of Connor’s leg that had turned red and purple and brown and black, “Feel that?”_

_Connor shook his head again, biting his lip as the pain in his upper leg slowly faded and the entire limb went numb._

_“Good,” Elijah nodded sternly at him, “The only thing I currently need is for you to stay very, very still. Understood?”_

_Connor’s eyes widened when Elijah retrieved a small knife from the tray behind the computer. He dug the heel of his good foot into the table, felt his whole body begin to shake; opened his mouth and…_

Connor screamed, tangling himself into the blankets before tumbling off the bed. He caught himself on his hands and elbows, arching his back as he dug his nails into the wooden floorboards. He took a deep, wheezing breath and screamed again.

The door flew open, but Connor didn’t acknowledge it. He panted, screamed, let his head connect with the floor, and then screamed again. Saliva pooled from his bottom lip to the floor, but he didn’t care. He kept screaming and screaming, shaking his head to rid the horrible feeling of the knife in his flesh from his mind. His leg was throbbing, angry. Pain was clawing its way up his thigh, reaching his stomach and he gagged. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, and he was mortified. He only noticed the man next to him when a hand came down on his shoulder softly. He had no time to jerk away. He gagged again, then felt his stomach twist and retched onto the wooden floor.

“It’s okay, kid,” A rough mumble came from behind him, “It’s okay, let it out.”

Connor had no choice, shaking with pain and exertion. When he was done, he rolled onto his back, away from the mess. He was still panting, his pajama shirt clinging to his frame from the sweat that was rolling down his body. He looked up at the Lieutenant with wide, terrified eyes, only then remembering where he was. He sagged slightly, curling on the floor in a miserable heap of pain and sweat and shame.

“You wanna get back into bed?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.

Connor shook his head listlessly. With only one leg, he couldn’t even get back into bed by himself even if he wanted to. And the idea of attaching his prosthetic while it still felt like his non-existent lower leg was on fire was making him feel sick again. “Hurts,” he whimpered in a wet voice.

“What hurts? Your stomach?” Lieutenant Anderson scooted closer, moving his large hand from Connor’s shoulder to his forehead.

Connor shook his head again, “No,” he swallowed, “My leg.”

“Oh,” the Lieutenant sat back slightly, like he understood how a leg that wasn’t there could hurt so much.

Connor scuffled back, feeling the pain in his leg ebb away slowly. He sighed, wrapping his arms around his one knee and pressing his forehead against it. “I know it doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled.

“Did you have a really bad dream?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.

Connor nodded slowly, feeling the skin of his warm forehead move against his left knee.

“Was it about your leg?”

Connor looked up at the man in surprise. How could he possibly know that? Frowning, he nodded again.

“Then it makes a lot of sense,” the Lieutenant shrugged, getting up with a groan. “Here, come on, I’ll help you up.”

Connor stared at him, and then accepted the man’s outstretched hand. He felt his mouth twitch upwards on his way upright. Lieutenant Anderson held onto his arm lightly as Connor tried to find his balance. Connor was used to it by now, so it didn’t take long. The man looked at him questioningly and Connor nodded. Lieutenant Anderson let go of him slowly and then Connor stood on one leg on his own. He pointed to the pair of elbow crutches that were standing against the bookcase; forgotten since he’d abandoned them there when he came home from the hospital. Right now though, they seemed far more inviting then the prosthetic under the bed.

“I don’t imagine either of us going back to sleep anytime soon, what do you think we step outside for a little bit?” Lieutenant Anderson said, hands on his hips and looking sideways at Connor.

Connor nodded, feeling wide awake. “What about Rose?”

“She sleeps through anything,” the Lieutenant mumbled. “I’ll let her know though.”

Only fifteen minutes later, they were outside in the dark. Lieutenant Anderson held tightly onto Sumo’s leash. The dog seemed as excited about this sudden midnight escapade as Connor did.

“We’re taking the car,” the Lieutenant announced, “I know a place.”

Connor nodded frantically, starting to move down the walkway on his crutches. When he reached the car, he turned around to look at Lieutenant Anderson, who hadn’t moved at all. “You coming?”

“Y-yeah,” the man said, seemingly shaking himself out of a trance. He tugged on Sumo’s leash and the dog moved forward quickly, nearly dragging his owner down the walkway. Connor smiled at the dog and his antics. The Lieutenant opened the old car’s doors and Connor put the crutches on the backseat first before hobbling over to the passenger seat in the front next to Hank. Sumo put his large head right between them, panting with his tongue hanging out and drooling all over the floor underneath him. Hank shook his head slightly, “Gross,” he mumbled before starting the car.

They drove for about ten minutes before stopping at a park near a gigantic bridge. There were swings and merry-go-rounds and slides and a seesaw. Connor’s eyes widened and he turned towards Hank with questioning eyes.

Hank nodded at the park, “Go on,” he said.

Connor scrambled to get out of the car, pulled the backdoor open for his crutches and grabbing onto Sumo’s collar in the process. The dog let himself be pulled out of the car, stepping out lazily and observing the destination with great interest. Connor did the same.

He breathed in the cool night air, faded memories of playgrounds and laughter echoing in his mind. He was unsure of why the Lieutenant suddenly relented and let him outside, but he had to admit it felt as good as he had hoped. Soft wind blew through his short hair, but it wasn’t cold, so at the end of August. The river rippled calmly and the lights on the bridge looked like the stars in the sky, just closer.

It meant more to him than he could have ever imagined.

Sumo nudged him slightly from the side. Connor could be mistaken, but the dog seemed like he was familiar with this place. They both began to move to the entrance of the park; Sumo trotting lightly besides him as Connor approached the swingset agilely on his crutches. He sat down, threw the crutches on the ground and wrapped his hands around the metal of the swing. He used his one foot to push himself backwards and let go. The swing creaked as he moved forward, wind blowing in his face. Aside from the swing itself and the wind, everything was silent. His dream was forgotten, as was the fear and anger and for a moment, even Miles was nowhere to be found. Sumo barked once, circling around him, but making sure to stay out of his reach.

Lieutenant Anderson watched the two from where he sat on the hood of the car. He didn’t smile; he just watched. Connor didn’t mind. It felt like he could fly, although he knew that if he let go, he’d probably fall flat on his face. The thought seemed ridiculous and he couldn’t stop himself from giggling.

He saw Lieutenant Anderson turn around and walk away.

Reaching down with his foot, Connor skidded to a stop and watched the Lieutenant’s back retreat slowly towards a bench near the river. He tilted his head in contemplation, his fingers playing with the metal rings of the swing for a moment.

“You should check it out,” Miles suggested, leaning against the wooden frame of the swing set.

“You check it out,” Connor mumbled, his eyes trained on the Lieutenant’s back. Had he done something wrong? Was he not supposed to go on the swings?

“Fine,” Miles sighed, pushing himself away from the swing set and sauntering towards the bench. Connor watched him lean over the Lieutenant’s hunched frame, then turn around and shrugging.

Connor rolled his eyes, letting go of the swing. He swayed violently for a moment, but kept his balance as he reached down for the crutches. “Come on, Sumo,” he said quietly and the dog followed him obediently as they approached the hunched figure on the bench.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked, biting his lip.

The Lieutenant startled a little bit, then cleared his throat, “Right,” he mumbled, his voice rough.

“Was I not supposed to go on the swings?” Connor inquired, a hint of guilt in his tone.

“No, it’s fine,” Hank answered, clearing his throat again, “It’s just… I used to come here a lot before…” he trailed off.

Connor narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment. It slowly started to make sense, “Before what?”

“Huh?” Hank mumbled, seeming awfully distracted.

“You said you used to come here a lot before,” Connor clarified, sitting down next to the man, “Before what?”

“Before,” Hank hesitated, looking at his hands, “Before nothing.”

Connor frowned, apparently ‘not wanting to talk’, was only a sound argument if you were a grown up. Stupid rule. Very stupid rule, so he said, “Do you miss him?”

Hank’s eyes widened impossibly, a shocked expression on his face, “How?...”

“I saw a picture of a boy in the sock drawer,” Connor muttered quietly, “I wasn’t trying to snoop, I just needed a sock.”

Honestly, even without the picture, Connor could have guessed. The sheer amount of children’s books in the bookcase in his room. The neatly folded t-shirts in the cabinet under the window. Connor had even found a forgotten piece of a jigsaw puzzle under his bed. But it wasn’t until he’d opened the sock drawer and saw the picture hidden under a dozen pairs of white socks that it suddenly made sense.

Hank looked at him, then his expression softened, “It’s alright,” he said with a sigh, “His name was Cole.”

“He was your son.” A statement instead of a question.

Hank nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “Yeah.”

Connor moved his eyes to the river, chewing on his lip, “Do you miss him?”

“Yeah,” Hank said, also looking at the river, “More than anything.”

Connor nodded, letting his eyes wander over to Miles, standing beside the bench. His brother was, for once, speechless. “Me too,” Connor whispered.

Hank didn’t question it, but smiled sadly as he looked at his hands, “We should go back home, Connor,” he said softly.

“Yeah, home,” Connor agreed.


	10. On the Couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small chapter for now, because next chapter, proverbial shit will hit the proverbial fan

_September 3rd 2038_

Hank watched the boy sternly at the other end of the kitchen table. The kid played with his food; twirling the spinach and spaghetti around on his fork before letting it drop back on his plate. Hank shoveled his own food inside, observing as Connor’s gaze drifted towards the living room. For whatever reason, the kid seemed particularly pissed off at the couch.

“Anything on your mind?” Hank asked after the third angry stare at the furniture.

Connor’s eyes snapped back towards his plate, shaking his head quickly. “No, Lieutenant.”

Hank frowned. He’d never explicitly told Connor to call him by his title, but the boy had done it since the very beginning. The last few days though, he seemed to slip more often and called him ‘Hank’ instead.

“You don’t like spaghetti and spinach?”

Connor shrugged, not meeting Rose’s eyes next to him. Hank had to admit he wasn’t very fond of vegetables himself, but the way Rose could prepare them, Hank swore he’d eat anything. Connor had been a picky eater from the start, though. The first week, he’d only wanted peanut butter sandwiches. And lemonade. Getting him to put on some weight was a lot harder than Hank had initially believed. Now Connor had started to expand his palate. A little. But most of the time he seemed awfully uninterested in food.

“I’m gonna need you to eat at least half of that before you leave the table, kay?” Rose said. Connor sighed, finally putting the fork in his mouth before he started to chew slowly. Hank was pretty sure he would have to shove another peanut butter sandwich in there later tonight.

It was when the boy’s eyes drifted towards the couch again that Hank felt an uneasy, foreboding feeling. Connor straightened against his chair, lay his fork down and breathed out. “When did Cole die?”

There. So out of left field that Hank almost choked on his spaghetti. Connor had a way of asking blunt questions at inappropriate moments. No lead up, and no warning. During the two weeks of having the boy staying at his house, Hank had gotten little glimpses of the child’s personality, hidden beneath all the layers of trauma. Connor was curious and would keep asking questions about anything and everything if you let him. Hank had been interrogated about androids, police work, manual cars, even exotic aquarium fishes had piqued the boy’s interest. The kid was also observant and smarter than any uneducated seven year-old had any right to be. And now he didn’t even look up from his food as he asked about Hank’s deceased son.

“Connor-” Rose began.

“Almost three years ago,” Hank answered gruffly, clearly indicating that he was not fond of questions of the sorts.

Connor didn’t move, staring at his plate as if he was seeing something else. After a few seconds of silence, his gaze wandered, once again, to the living room. “Did you,” he started; then bit his lip for a moment while looking back at his plate, “Did you ever see him? Like… after?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with his fork in hand.

Hank frowned, leaning back, “You mean after it happened? At the funeral?”

Connor shook his head, slightly frustrated and not meeting his eyes as he kept his gaze firmly on his half-full plate of spaghetti. Hell, the boy probably didn’t even know what a funeral was. “No, like… really after.”

A very unnerved feeling settled in Hank’s gut and he glanced at Rose, who looked back at him, concerned. Hank’s own almost empty plate of spaghetti seemed fairly unappealing all of a sudden. “No,” he answered, clearing his throat as he kept his eyes on the boy, “Are you seeing someone?”

Connor’s bottom lip started to tremble and he bit it firmly, “Please, don’t be mad.”

“Why would I get mad?”

Connor shrugged helplessly, inhaling deeply to calm his shuddering breaths, “I don’t know,” he said, tears in his voice.

Hank’s gaze flew to the couch for a moment and his eyes widened. Connor’s preoccupation slowly started to make sense, but it also left a very, very horrible pit in Hank’s stomach. He’d noticed Connor’s bouts of absence sometimes. How the kid’s eyes would drift off, unfocused. How his expression could change without any visible cause. How he seemed to talk to himself sometimes when he was alone in his room. Hank cleared his throat again, “Is it your brother?”

Connor glanced at the living room before finally meeting Hank’s eyes. The boy’s eyes were wide and uncertain, almost pleading. He nodded slowly, then glanced at the couch again.

“Milo,” Rose said softly.

“I always call him Miles,” Connor whispered.

Hank and Rose shared a look again, and Rose swallowed, “Does Miles ever talk to you?” she asked.

The boy nodded, “All the time.”

“What does he say?”

Connor shrugged, uneasy, “All kinds of stuff.”

“Does he ever tell you to do things?” Rose continued to question. Hank felt a shiver move over his spine. He knew where this was going. He’d probably give anything to see Cole again, but this… this wasn’t healthy. But of course, Connor didn’t know that. To him, this was normal.

Connor looked at Rose, then nodded slowly, “Sure.”

“Then what do you do?”

The boy shrugged again, pricking his fork into a meatball listlessly, “Usually I ignore him.”

“Okay that’s good,” Rose said.

“Why?” Connor wondered.

“Are you seeing him right now?” Rose asked, ignoring his question.

Connor looked at the couch again, as if to check, “Yeah.”

“Is he always there?”

“On the couch?” the kid asked.

“No, in general. Are you always seeing him?”

“Yes,” Connor frowned, “He can’t just disappear,” he said, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. Hank didn’t even know where to start with this, so he was glad Rose did the talking for now. Rose had experience with working with traumatized people. Hell, she’d even worked with Hank a long, long time ago. She probably knew exactly what was going on. That didn’t mean it wasn’t disturbing though.

“Do you like it when he talks to you?”

“Sometimes,” Connor answered, relaxing a little more now that he knew they weren’t getting mad. Or well, Hank wasn’t quite sure whether he was getting mad or not. “He can be very annoying though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes he won’t shut up,” the boy said, shooting a glare at the couch. It all was making Hank feel very unnerved.

“Does he ever say things you don’t like?”

“He can be mean,” Connor nodded, then looked curiously between Rose and Hank, “You believe me?”

“Sure,” Rose said. Hank just nodded; unable to give a verbal reply at this very moment.

A weight seemed to lift off the boy’s shoulders and he gave a small, genuine smile, “Thank you.”


	11. You're not my Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also a fairly short chapter. But very important. And very disastrous

Hank started pacing the moment Rose shut the door to Connor’s room. He’d balled his hands into fists, making rounds around the couch, then remembered there had been a dead kid there, shivered, before moving to the kitchen and walking around the table.

“Will you relax?” Rose sighed.

“This is not okay,” Hank grumbled.

“Oh come on,” Rose said, coming closer, “having an imaginary friend is perfectly fine for this age.”

“Imaginary friend?” Hank fumed, turning to face her, “He’s seeing his dead brother!” he hissed.

“That’s not a reason to panic,” Rose claimed, folding her arms over her chest.

“I ain’t panicking,” Hank barked.

“Sure, you’re not.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, moving a hand through his hair as he grabbed unto a kitchen chair to steady himself, “I don’t like this.”

“It’s a way to deal with extreme trauma, Hank,” Rose said softly. The walls were very thin.

“By hallucinating?”

“The loss must have come very sudden for him. It makes sense.”

“Argh, I don’t want it to make sense,” Hank growled, throwing his hands up.

“Well, maybe it’s not up to you?” Rose’s voice increased in volume. “We all deal with trauma differently.”

“This fucking isn’t about me!”

“Would you calm down?”

“I am fucking calm!” Hank replied harshly, “I want him going to a shrink first thing tomorrow!” he yelled, pointing at the bedroom door.

The door clicked and swung open. Connor marched out without looking at either of them. He had a cartoon-figure hoodie on with jeans that were a little too long for him. He must have thrown it on after being put to bed. He walked straight to the coat rack, picked out his own black and white jacket and started putting it on without a word.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hank asked, bewildered.

“I’m leaving,” Connor informed curtly.

“Oh no, you’re not,” Hank bristled.

Connor whirled around, venom in his young brown eyes, “I thought you believed me! I thought you wouldn’t get mad!”

“Who says I’m mad?”

“I am not going to a shrink!” Connor yelled out, his face reddening.

“You can’t just leave whenever you feel like it,” Hank said, his own nerves completely fried by now.

“I’m going,” Connor challenge.

“Did Miles tell you to do that?” Hank demanded, stepping closer to the boy.

The kid’s face twisted in a sneer, “Don’t talk about him, you don’t even like him!”

“You’re staying right here.”

“Miles says you’re not my dad!” Connor screamed, his eyes burning in uncontrolled anger.

“Miles is dead!” Hank threw back and time seemed to freeze. Connor stiffened, not moving for a good three seconds. He stared at Hank, something changing in his face. Something very foul. The wild anger seemed to disappear, making place for a black emptiness as the boy breathed out.

“Let me go,” he said calmly.

Hank shook his head, “No way, I really don’t like where your head’s at.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed as the both of them inched into the kitchen slowly, away from the front door. “You can’t control me.”

“Look, I don’t wanna control you,” Hank said, deflating somewhat as he noticed Connor’s back connecting with the kitchen counter, “But we wanna help you.”

“You don’t have to help me,” Connor said, his hand reaching back for the drawer he was standing against, “You can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Before anybody really knew what happened, Connor opened the drawer and blindly picked up the revolver Hank had hidden in there for cold lonely nights. It felt like a punch in the gut, seeing a seven year-old with his own weapon. Connor’s face was twitching, alive with anger. Something cold and hateful in his eyes that had no business on such a young face.

Hank put up his hands slowly as Connor aimed the gun towards him, “Connor, it’s okay,” he muttered, inching closer slightly, “Just give me that gun, it’s dangerous, alright?”

The boy’s face twisted, “I know how this works!” he said, removing the magazine to check the ammunition before pushing it back in.

Hank was stunned, watching as Connor pulled back the safety. “For fuck’s sake, Connor,” he whispered.

“Let me go.”

Hank bit his lip in indecision. He felt Rose’s presence behind him, probably just as shocked and disturbed as she was. Connor seemed to know what he was doing. He knew the gun was in there. And he knew how to handle it. In all the twisted things the boy had been through, where would shooting a police man and his girlfriend rank? Hank couldn’t take that gamble. So he nodded slowly, stepping aside to give the kid room. Connor’s eyes narrowed at him before his brow arched.

Hank sighed, gesturing towards the door. “If you know everything so well, don’t let us stop you.”

Connor didn’t hesitate, marching towards the door and pulling it open. Hank felt like crumbling to the ground as he stood in the kitchen, leaning heavily on the table. Rose stared at him with wide open eyes, tears streaming down her face. “Hank,” was all she said, slowly shaking her head.

“I fucked up,” Hank whispered, “I know that.”

“There’s a seven year-old roaming the streets with a weapon right now,” Rose said accusingly.

“Not for long,” Hank promised, “Hold on.”

He willed his legs to move, walking through the still open front door of the house. He went to the parked cars, where some security officers were already coming out, looking at him in utter confusion. “I want him followed within five minutes,” Hank said, “There’s a tracker on his coat. Be careful, though. Let him cool off first.”

He saw the millions of questions in the officer’s eyes, but the man nodded nonetheless and went to work. Hank closed his eyes, thanking his past-self for having the foresight to put a tracker on Connor. He’d thought at the time that if the unfortunate would happen and someone would take Connor away, he’d have the option of following him. Even if that someone was Connor himself.


	12. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright alright alright alright. It's been a while, hasn't it? To be fairly honest, my muse for this one faded a bit and I'm trying to grind out some new chapters to find it again. IN ANY CASE, let me know what you think, because it might make it a bit easier :P

Connor was angry; he wasn’t crying.

The rain came down like a flood and before long he was soaked from head to toe. He didn’t know where he was going. To be honest, he hadn’t been outside by himself, like, ever.

No, not by himself, he thought. Miles was here. He didn’t need anybody else but Miles.

Stupid Lieutenant Anderson. Stupid Rose. Sure, he felt sorry for Hank for losing his son. But that didn’t mean Miles had to stay dead, did it? Cause Miles was always there. He even talked to Connor. Only to Connor. Miles didn’t need anybody else either.

But the longer he walked, the more he started to regret his actions. It was getting cold and he was getting tired. This side of the city seemed abandoned and it was getting darker and darker by the minute. He couldn’t go back though, he thought despairingly. After what he’d done, Rose and Hank would never let him back inside. But, and that became clearer to Connor with every step he took, he had nowhere else to go.

The gun was still in his hand, pretty much forgotten by now. Connor didn’t care. He knew how to use it. He’d learned quickly. They were proud of him for how quickly. Elijah had even praised him. And Amanda… Amanda had _smiled. _

Something tugged at his insides at that memory. He blinked rapidly, feeling tears burn behind his eyes. He looked sideways. Miles had stuffed his hands into his pocket, stomping through the rain with hunched shoulders and a sour look on his face. He was bigger than Connor. Of course, he’d always been bigger than Connor, but he seemed even bigger now. He was gonna protect him, Connor was sure of it.

“We should go back,” Connor said quietly.

“We can’t,” Miles grumbled, brusquely marching down the street.

“Why not?” Connor asked as he tried to keep up with his brother, even though he already knew the answer.

“You freaked them out, Connor,” Miles replied.

“It’s not my fault they can’t see you,” Connor commented.

“Yes, it is,” Miles turned around suddenly to face him, pointing an angry finger at his face, “You know, if it wasn’t for you, they’d…”

Connor’s eyes narrowed, “They’d what?”

Miles’ mouth twitched, then he turned around again and resumed walking, “Nothing.”

“No, say it!” Connor challenged, running to get ahead of him.

“If it weren’t for you, they’d see me. I would actually be there,” Miles said slowly; ice in his blue eyes as he stared Connor down.

Connor shook his head, taking a few steps back, “No, I-”

“You know what? Forget it.”

“Fine!” Connor yelled. He blinked, and Miles was gone.

“Hide, you coward! I don’t care!” Connor screamed at the empty space before him. He suppressed a sob, pushing it back down, and started running. Tears streamed down his face, but the rain washed them away quickly.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running, but he was absolutely exhausted when he finally stopped. Panting, he started to shiver slightly. He looked around, fearing he was absolutely lost, but the street seemed peculiarly familiar.

A heavy feeling settled in his stomach and he felt his throat close up as he slowly walked towards the house he remembered. It looked the same. Connor remembered playing in the yard with his brother and the dog. He remembered pulling at the long grass whenever Miles insisted on explaining his self-made rules to the soccer-game they were about to play. Connor hadn’t cared about the rules, as long as he could run behind the ball and kick it once in a while. The front door was the same too. He remembered tripping over the doorstep when he was small and falling flat on his face. His nose and lip had hurt, dripping with blood, but Mommy had kissed it away.

He stared at that door now, unsure of what to do. Maybe she’d be there. Maybe he could ring the bell, wait for a few seconds, and then she’d come down the hall. And then she’d wrap her arms around him, lift him up and swirl the both of them around, saying how much she’d missed him. And he’d tell her that he’d missed her too. And that he wanted to stay. And that he would never leave again. That Miles could stay too. And that would be it.

Slowly, he came closer to the door, but halted midway. He looked at the gun still in his hand. He bit his lip, then nodded to himself. He pushed at the cylinder, and then took the three bullets out of their chambers one by one, stuffing them in his pocket. Without another thought, he shoved the empty gun in the back of his pants and pulled his jacket down over it.

When he stood in front of the door, he hesitated. What could he possibly say to make up for the years he’d been away? What would actually happen when the door opened? Steeling himself, he knocked on the door a few times. He waited. And waited.

Finally, the lights turned on behind the obscured glass window of the door. Connor felt his heart drum away in his chest, his hands shaking. The door opened and an old lady appeared, looking at him curiously.

“Can I help you, young man?” she asked, raising her brow.

Connor stared at her, confused, for a few moments. He stumbled backwards, shaking his head wildly. A sob caught in his throat and he made a strangled noise as he turned around quickly and ran away. He _was _crying now. It wasn’t fair! What was she doing in his house? What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t go anywhere!

And, he realized too late, now he was _really _lost.

He stopped at the edge of a park, panting and nearly dropping to his knees.

“We can never go back to the way it was before,” Miles declared. And even though he wasn’t visible; there was a part of Connor that could always see him.

“Why?” he asked flatly.

“You know why.”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I've gotten this question a few times: Connor definitely knows that Miles is dead. It's just... death doesn't mean the same thing to a seven year old as it does to other people. At this point he's just accepted that Miles is there and can only talk and be seen by him. You know, standard stuff. Nothing to worry about. Completely normal.


	13. Proud

_The day Eight turned five; he was led to his first real assignment. The young subject looked stoic and reserved. _Stern, _Elijah would almost say. The child stared impassively at the rabbits in the pen that hopped around frantically, as if the animals knew what was likely going to happen. Elijah remembered his own first, very similar assignment, even if the circumstances were entirely different. _

_Cute, he’d called the rabbits back then, before being slapped softly on the back of his head by his adoptive mother. They aren’t cute, she’d said coldly. They are your subjects. He’d been a bit older than Eight was now, but he remembered feeling sorry for the animals._

_Eight didn’t look like he felt sorry for the animals. He didn’t look like he felt anything, to be completely honest. Up until a few months ago, Elijah was sure that their eighth subject would be another write off. The boy was frail and sickly; crying himself to sleep every night and begging for his mother whenever he was ‘educated’ by Zlatko. And no matter how many threats Zlatko made, how many punches he threw or how many times he cursed the child out, Eight would keep crying. Eight would keep being unable to walk properly. Eight would keep stumbling and failing at even the simplest orders. _

_Until one day, and Elijah would still ask himself from time to time what changed, when the child’s face was suddenly void of emotion. When the boy would keep exerting himself, even if the pain in his damaged leg had to have been excruciating. He wouldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t eat. He was only focused on the orders he received, small and simple as they may be. Like a machine. And Elijah had realized that finally, _finally, _they’d reached the exact phase of the experiment that Amanda had been looking for all those years. It was frustrating to not know the details on the how and why, sure, but for now, that didn’t matter. _

_“The white ones need to die first,” Randy growled roughly, his arms folded over his chest, gaze intently drilling into the child’s eyes, “then the patched ones, and the black ones last. Understood?”_

_Eight’s eyes flitted to a point in the distance for the fraction of a second, as if to check something, before settling back into a solid, neutral expression. “Yes sir.”_

_There were no questions asked as the five year old child accepted the pistol from Randy’s grasp. Randy had taught him how to shoot, how to anticipate the recoil. How to keep his aim steady and how to never hesitate for even a second. A deep, long buried part of Elijah felt unsettled as he watched the boy carry out the order, doing nothing more, and nothing less than what he was asked. Afterwards, Eight turned and handed the gun back to Randy with no sense of fear of the man that had shot him not even a year ago. _

_After Zlatko had brought the subject back to the attic, Elijah heard Randy whistle in a low tone. A sound of approval. “Would you look at that,” the hunter mumbled as he pointed at the seven dead rabbits in the pen. Eight had shot them all in the exact same spot._

_Right between the eyes._

_Elijah stared for a solid ten seconds, then turned to look at Amanda, who stood a good distance away. Elijah had never seen her look so proud before._

Connor slumped against a thick tree at the end of the park. Cramps were shooting up and down his busted leg and he let his head fall back against the solid bark of the tree. He remembered the day of the rabbits only vaguely. He remembered being given an order, executing that order, and never thinking about it again afterwards. In the two years that followed, he’d tuned that approach to perfection. He remembered Miles standing far off, begging him to _think think think. _To not shoot. Remembered Miles screaming at him in anger when he _did _shoot. Miles seemed desperate and devastated, but Connor didn’t care.

Miles knew just as much about death as Connor did. And maybe those rabbits didn’t deserve to die. But nobody did.

Amanda had properly looked at him afterwards, a genuine smile covering her face as she touched his face, cupped his cheek. And Connor hadn’t been touched in that way for so long that he relished in it. She said she was proud. That he’d done well. She asked if he regretted what he’d done to those animals. He’d shaken his head. _No ma’am. _And then she’d smiled again, nodding in satisfaction.

And Connor may have only been five at the time, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. He’d picked up on the way people danced to Amanda’s every whim. How they’d do anything to please her. How she looked at them coldly nevertheless. But to him, she’d smiled. To him, she said she was proud.

Miles didn’t like it. Balked at every order Connor would receive. Would cry and scream when Connor ignored him and carried out his task perfectly. From shooting rabbits to killing chickens. He never once wondered why. Miles did. Miles had all kinds of theories. Connor didn’t listen.

Then, one day when he was six and a half, the three cats that he’d drowned the day before were replaced with a boy. For once, Miles had gone completely silent, staring in shock as Connor took his own place in the ring. Both of them were around the same age and Connor remembered the other boy bouncing nervously from foot to foot. He knew the order before it was spoken aloud.

_Neutralize._

And Connor may not know how to read or write; or even how to grip a pencil appropriately. He’d never been taught to count further than twenty and couldn’t remember a lot of the rules to games he and Miles used to play together. But he knew what neutralize meant. He knew how to accomplish it efficiently and how to make Amanda _proud. _Miles cried longer than normal after that. Connor didn’t quite understand why. It wasn’t like he’d killed the boy. He didn’t ask though and Miles didn’t say.

Then, when he turned seven; a new boy would come in every other week. And partly because Zlatko had hurt him less and less every day, he had no trouble carrying out the exact same order as always. Neutralize had become just as normal a word to him as breathing and with every young boy he caused to crash to the floor, he felt Amanda’s eyes focused solely on him.

Until that one, peculiar day. He was led to the pen of _rabbits, chickens, cats, ducks whatever. _He’d stared. Miles had stared. Neither of them moved. Not even when the order was spoken out loud. The black Labrador pup had looked at him like it knew him. It looked happy to see him and bounded towards him, danced around him, nipped at his ankles in an invitation to play. Connor knew it couldn’t possibly be _her, _but that didn’t seem to matter. He felt Miles’ eyes burning through the side of his head and for one of the first times, he looked back at his brother. Miles had shaken his head pleadingly and Connor had swallowed, looking back at the dog.

“Shoot it twice, Eight,” the order repeated. For one of the first times, Connor wondered why they never called him by his actual name.

He remembered everything about Bonnie. The way she slept against his chest every night when he was little. The way she’d run after a ball like her life depended on it. The way she cried whenever he was away from her for even a little bit. The way she licked his face every morning to tell him to wake up. The way she’d looked absolutely terrified that one particular night where she’d gotten away from the closet and hid under the bed.

Ice had spread through his entire body at that memory. He’d slowly turned towards Randy, gun hanging limply in his hands. He’d reached out and gave the hunter his weapon back. Nobody said anything. Nobody did anything as Connor walked back inside and climbed upstairs to curl up in the attic.

Connor didn’t know what happened to the dog. He didn’t get to go outside after that for a long while. He realized he didn’t know what happened to the boys he’d _neutralized _either. He’d never heard any other kids in the house. They certainly didn’t show up in the attic. They just came out of nowhere and then… vanished.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, Connor was scared.

He looked at the lieutenant’s gun in his hands now. Miles sat beside him, also staring. “They can never know what you did,” he said softly.

Connor nodded. His brother was right. He’d always been right. But he also knew that if he’d listened to Miles back then, things would have been so much more complicated. For a long while, Connor had detested the orders after the puppy. He had to do them, he had no choice, but he felt sick every time he did it. Zlatko had taken it upon himself to beat the sudden disobedience out of him, but it didn’t work. Connor could no longer detach himself from the bullets he drove through the cats, ducks, chickens, rabbits. He saw them when he went to sleep. He saw them in what little he got to eat. He saw that the boys he was put up against were just as frightened as he had been in the beginning. And Amanda grew a little less proud every time they met. He heard her call him a ‘failed experiment’ once; and even though he didn’t know what an experiment was, he knew what failing meant.

He’d tried to explain he didn’t mean to fail, but she didn’t listen. And he knew that she’d never _truly _listened to him in any sort of way.

He sniffled slightly, wishing that at least Sumo would be here. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about lieutenant Anderson right now, but he could never blame the big dog. Sumo would forgive him. Sumo wouldn’t care about what he’d done. About what he _was. _

A failed experiment.

He bit his bottom lip firmly when it trembled. He didn’t deserve Sumo. He didn’t deserve Rose’s kind words. She would certainly not still be nice to him if she _knew. _And lieutenant Anderson would probably arrest him and he’d have to go to jail. If the man thought that Connor seeing Miles was disturbing, what would he think when he learned about the orders Connor had followed without a single question?

He heard a car stop at the edge of the park. The rain had stopped. It was still cold. Connor didn’t look at the two men that approached him carefully. He kept his gaze firmly on the merry go round that was slightly spinning in the wind, eliciting an eerie _creak_ every once and again. He stood up slowly, handed the gun over and walked with them to the car.


	14. Goose Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, I made Hank like, five years younger in this fic, so he's nearly 48 here. Sue me, haha. Anyway, it fits a bit better with the next part of the story that I have in mind.

Blind panic would be an understatement. Lieutenant Anderson felt close to desperate as he frantically rushed through the streets. From the moment the cop car came back with the very apologetic looking officer he’d sent after Connor not even twenty minutes prior; he’d been existing in a daze. Only one thing on his mind.

HOW HOW HOW HOW

In those twenty minutes, he’d been barely able to convince himself that maybe some fresh air and time alone was exactly what the boy needed. Sure, it had scared the holy bejeezus out of him to see the kid with a revolver like it was just an extension of his right arm. But Connor, even at seven, seemed mature enough not to do anything stupid with it.

There was a tracker in his coat. A cop was sent after him for supervision. It would be alright. Boy just needed to cool off.

He’d spent another five minutes yelling at officer Singer about how he was supposed to keep his eyes on the kid, and how children didn’t just disappear.

But that was just it. They did. All the time. They’d be there one minute. Gone the next. It only took some careless adults to make it happen.

“Where’d you lose him?” he’d barked at Singer, hoping to get at least something useful out of the distraught officer before hauling his own ass into his car and shooting out of the driveway.

_Lonyo Street._

The words sent shivers down Hank’s spine. Singer told him how the boy had walked up to a house and had rung the bell. How he’d waited until someone opened, then ran like the devil. He’d jumped between two bushes into someone’s backyard and that’s how he lost him. Singer didn’t understand the boy’s sudden panic.

Hank did.

And even though the new owners would probably know very little of what happened on number 14 only three years prior, it was still a lead. Hank fumbled with his phone, cursing anything and everything as he tried and failed to get the tracker to work. If Connor got too far out of the area, it would be absolutely useless. Singer promised to make sure it became functional.

He wondered if he should send out an Amber alert. It would definitely put everyone’s eyes on the kid. _Everyone’s eyes. _At the same time, the more people looking for the boy, the higher the chance of him being found.

No. He couldn’t take the risk.

He’d called Jeffery, enduring his captain’s tirade for the whole of two minutes before ending the call with the vague notion that he had better things to do now. He didn’t have time to think about how he’d been responsible for that boy, how it was definitely all his fault. It would be wasted time to wallow in the now certain fact that the count of children he’d failed and driven into definitive danger was now two.

But here, there was still hope.

With his crippled leg, Connor could still run, sure, but not for very long. He couldn’t have gotten far from Lonyo Street, even if he did take shortcuts through people’s yards. The fact that he’d gotten all the way to Lonyo Street in the first place was not going to distract Hank from that theory.

By the time he got there, the rain had stopped. It was still cold. Hank wasted no time in getting out of his car and running up to number 14. He realized it was late. Close to midnight. But this was important. He rang the doorbell incessantly, trying to swallow his panic down and trying not to think about how Connor must have stood in this exact same spot not longer than fifteen minutes ago.

It didn’t take long before there was movement visible in the hallway. The older woman that opened the door looked at him expectantly, if not a little exasperated. She started to frown when she looked him over and he realized he must look quite the picture. There was no time to explain his appearance though.

“A boy,” he breathed, “Did a boy come here?”

The lady’s frown grew deeper and she folded her arms over her chest, “What do you want with a boy?” she asked sternly.

Right.

Hank grumbled as he retrieved his badge from his back pocket, “I’m lieutenant Anderson from the DPD. The boy is in my custody.”

The woman face didn’t soften as she kept staring at him. _Poor child, _her eyes seemed to say. Frustration was climbing up steadily and Hank huffed impatiently, “Was he here?”

“There was a child here about fifteen minutes ago, yes,” the lady answered finally, “Poor thing looked like he’d seen a ghost when I opened the door. Can I ask what this is about?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Hank grumbled, “Did you see which way he went?”

The woman nodded, her guarded demeanor dissolving into concern, “He took off that way,” she said, waving a hand down the street, “Is there anything I can do to help? He seemed very distressed.”

“It will be alright,” Hank mumbled while reaching for the small bloc note in his jacket pocket. “Do give me a call if he shows back up here, if you would,” he said, noting down his name and phone number.

The lady took the small piece of paper and nodded, “Of course.”

“Thank you, I-”

Hank’s radio crackled on his hip and he reached for it in a matter of milliseconds. “Yeah?” he barked roughly, turning away from the woman in the doorway.

“I got the GPS working,” Singer’s voice came through.

“And?” Hank was not a very patient man at the moment.

“He’s on Belle Isle.”

“That’s impossible,” Hank said immediately. “There’s no way he could have gotten all the way over there so quickly.”

The other end of the line went silent and Hank felt his knees grow weak as realization came bounding through. “Shit,” he whispered.

Without explaining anything to the lady, Hank turned resolutely and marched back to the car. He was shaking as he took his place in the driver seat. He curled his hands around the wheel, knuckled quickly going white. He wanted to scream, but years of training in police work kept him from losing it completely.

Still, hadn’t he sworn he would die before he let those motherfuckers get their filthy hands on that boy again?

He bit his lip as he floored the pedal. One of the reasons he still drove this piece of shit was that you couldn’t possible get an automated car to push over the speed limit. As it were, the fifty year old old-timer had no trouble doing just that. He grabbed his radio again, barking the order, “Lead me there, Singer.”

“We should wait for back-up first.”

“Fuck that, we have no time.”

“But protocol-”

“Shut the fuck up, Dennis, I swear to God,” Hank yelled angrily. Now of all times, Singer wanted to stick to protocol?

“Fuck,” the young officer swore, falling silent for a few moments before sighing, “Alright, fuck.”

It was nothing short of a miracle that Hank made it to the MacArthur Bridge in one piece. Street’s weren’t all that busy this late at night, thank fuck, and it wasn’t too long before Hank slowed down in front of a medium sized building. It was inconspicuous in all senses of the word, but if Hank could trust Singer and his technology, this was it.

He sat in indecision for a moment. He couldn’t just barge in there, even if that was what he wanted to do most. Picking up his phone, he dialed Jeffery’s number again.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, we got it.”

“I know, Dennis already called. I’m sending a SWAT team over there.”

“That’ll be too late.”

Silence for a second or two, “Hank,” Jeffery’s tone was warning, “Do not engage.”

Hank’s face twitched in anger, but he forced his voice to remain calm, “I have no choice.”

“You’re a fucking police lieutenant, Anderson,” Fowler’s voice rose with every word he spoke, “For once in your goddamn life, act like one!”

“What do you think will happen if a whole fucking SWAT team barges in there while they got Connor, huh?” Hank growled.

“They’ll know what they’re doing!”

“We have no time!”

“Listen you goddamn idiot.” Fowler was not unknown to forego all kinds of formalities when he got pissed, “Stay where you are, and wait for back-up.”

“I can’t take that chance, Jeffery.”

“Do not go in there, Hank! That’s a fucking order.”

“He’s my responsibility!”

“For fuck’s sake, Hank! He’s not Cole!”

Silence. Eerie and outstretched. The temperature in the car instantly seemed to drop ten degrees. For a long second, Hank couldn’t move. Then he moved his thumb to end the call without another word.

Because how fucking _dare _he?

In little over two years, Hank would turn fifty. He often felt it in the way his back would creak when he woke up in the morning, or how his knees protested his weight when he stood for too long. He felt none of that now as he grabbed his service weapon out of the glove compartment and ran into the night towards the building.


	15. Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh finally

Amanda was displeased. In all her forty years of running this business, she’d never have to go into hiding like this. Sterns were supposed to be hunters, predators, on top of the very food-chain. Instead, they hid on Belle Isle like hunted foxes.

She let her eyes wander around the room. The building was much smaller than anything she was used to. Still, the dining table was large and intimidating; with many more chairs than they’d ever need. The gigantic chandelier was a nice touch. Amanda could appreciate a touch of class. Elegance was often underrated in this world. She supposed she was satisfied with what could be done in the five weeks since obtaining this building. To be fair, almost everything on Belle Isle belonged to the Sterns, so finding what they needed was quite easy. And if it didn’t belong to the Sterns, their name alone would usually strike enough fear that they’d get what they wanted without charge.

Amanda liked it that way. It meant they were respected.

She watched silently as Randy and Elijah strode towards her. The boy was in between them, so at least that mess was now sorted out. Well, almost. Amanda kept her icy stare on them as they approached, unhappy with the way the boy stared back at her, as if he’d forgotten all he’d learnt in the four weeks he’d been gone. His left eye was swollen and his lip bleeding, so Randy had not been able to remove the disobedience from the boy. That was discouraging.

“Connor,” Amanda greeted, spreading her arms invitingly, “It’s very good to see you.” She didn’t miss the uncertainty in the child’s eyes. She never called him Connor; but the time for those technicalities was over now. She had other things to worry about.

The boy knew better than to speak back and remained silent as he looked up at her from the end of the table. Amanda had ever known two emotional states of Connor. There was fear; a wide abundance of it in the beginning, and a repressed version of it in the end. And there was apathy in between.

The anger she saw glittering in the young boy’s eyes now was so close to defiance, Amanda decided that it should be noted to change in their next session. Anger had no place in the Stern family, and Amanda liked to think she’d raised the boy better than to express it in such a boundless manner. Because that was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? They’d raised this boy to be efficient and to dismiss any emotional connection he may have had towards his orders. Sure, he was young and Amanda would have liked the way they had obtained him to be different, but he’d showed such promise. She could have done anything with the boy after purchase, but she’d chosen to have mercy. And this is what she got in return.

Anger.

She pressed her lips together disapprovingly. The eighth subject had gotten further than anybody else in the program. Cold and calculating. Detached from reality, almost, it seemed. A perfect blend of intelligence and obedience. But perhaps he had been too young. Too impressionable. His refusal to kill the dog should have been a clear sign.

Amanda hated to think they had gotten that sloppy.

Perhaps it was time to move on to something else. The boy was nothing but a liability now. He could be sold again. Made to disappear. The police on their tails would keep searching for a while, but the trail would get cold fairly soon. They’d back off. The boy would become just another cold case on their ever developing reputation of failures, if she was to believe Stuart, their inside informant.

Would she take that risk, though?

“Connor,” she spoke clearly, watching the boy’s eyes train on hers as he straightened his posture instinctively. “You have disappointed me.” Connor didn’t react, other than a slight twitch of his lips. He looked. And waited. “But it seems like you have found your way back. Are you done with your little adventure?”

Connor frowned slightly, then tilted his head. “Why are we here?”

“I don’t think that is important right now, Connor.”

Connor didn’t back down, “Where is Luther?”

Amanda felt something in her face stiffen at the boldness of his questions. He was clearly defying her. It was endearing, but also unacceptable. “I did not permit you to ask questions.”

“He was nice,” the boy continued, uncaring, “He said he’d save me. From what, I asked. Because I didn’t understand. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Connor’s words were rushed, emotional and heated. Amanda decided to drop the charade.

“What have you said to the police?”

“It’s not fair!” The boy yelled suddenly, “You killed my brother! He did nothing to you and you killed him! Why? Why would you do that?”

Amanda felt a fire flaming inside her that she hadn’t left uncontrolled in a very long time. Her face twisted into a dangerous sneer as she brought it closer to the child, “We have killed not only your brother, but your entire family, Connor. You do well to remember that. You belong to us. We took you away because you were our property.”

Tears streamed down the young boy’s face now and he shook his head wildly, all pretense of composure torn away. “You’re lying!”

Amanda leaned back, reasserting her calmness now that the boy was thoroughly confused, “I am not. It’s very true. Has anyone ever told you what really happened on that night?”

She could see how unsure the boy was by the twist of his lips, his eyes firmly turned away from her. Whatever she said now, he would believe. “Your father had to pay us a lot of money, did you know that?”

Connor shrugged helplessly, and she had him right where she wanted him.

“He was addicted to a drug called Red Ice, have you heard of that?”

Connor shook his head, but his eyes slowly moved to her face again.

“We make and sell those drugs, and your father helped us. But he took too much for himself. Drugs are very expensive, Connor.”

The child clearly didn’t have any sort of concept of money, but that didn’t matter for now. She had his undivided attention. “So we asked him and your mother nicely to pay us for those drugs a few times. He just didn’t have the money.”

Connor’s frown was deepening with every word Amanda said, a cold sense of dread developing in his young eyes.

“So at one point, we had to stop asking him nicely. We told him and your mother there was another way to pay for the drugs he’d stolen. And they agreed.”

“What?” Connor whispered.

“We said that we would stop asking him for our money, if he gave us you, Connor.” Amanda finished with a soft smile, watching with satisfaction as a wide array of emotions crossed over the young boy’s face. He started backing up, shaking his head as fresh tears slid down his cheeks. He stopped when his back met Randy’s unyielding arms.

“No!” he cried out instead, “My mommy and daddy loved me!”

“Very sure they did,” Amanda answered sweetly, her eyes never leaving the child’s distressed ones, “They tried to back out of the deal the night we came to get you. It’s the only reason they died. They tried to defy us, Connor. They tried to play games with us, so we played along and we won. And your brother just got in the way.”

Something broke in the little boy. His eyes glazed over and he stumbled backwards before being caught by Randy’s hands.

“Do you remember what I told you about your focus, Connor?”

Connor’s empty eyes slowly drifted back towards her. He opened his mouth and spoke mechanically, “I should never wonder what goal my order serve. All I have to do is obey.”

Amanda smiled, satisfied, “Very well. Maybe we can still find a purpose for you. You will do great things when you grow up, Connor. We always get what we set our minds to.”

Connor nodded soullessly, not paying attention to Zlatko coming up behind him with the gun in his hand. Amanda nodded at Zlatko with just a twinge of sadness. Of course they would not find a new purpose for Connor after everything. But the boy’s story was a tragic one, Amanda could admit that much.

Zlatko raised his arm and cocked the gun.

Connor closed his eyes.

A loud crash sounded way in the back of the old storage closet.

All heads turned that way.

“Check if anyone’s here,” Elijah said immediately. Zlatko looked at Amanda questioningly. She motioned for him to follow. Randy circled a large hand around Connor’s upper arm and yanked the boy backwards.

“Anderson’s car!” he called out urgently as he looked outside.

Amanda sneered at the child. Could it be the boy was used as a decoy? Would they really stoop that low? Anderson might. After everything.

“We’ll find him,” she said coldly.


	16. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself sad again.

_Fuck_

Hank was definitely regretting the reckless way he’d foregone to wait for backup as he watched one of the Sterns purposefully march towards his hiding spot. He ducked and scrambled behind a few boxes. The small room was cluttered, which was a blessing really. He hadn’t quite been able to hear what was said in the larger room, but from the look on Connor’s face it had a hell of an impact.

There were more pressing things to worry about now, though.

He heard the click of a gun a little too close to him for his liking. In a few minutes, this building would be surrounded by SWAT cars, but between now and those few minutes, Hank was on his own. He trailed along the heavy furniture, making sure to be as stealthy as possible. The owner of the gun had not located him yet, and it gave him the advantage.

“Drop it,” Hank hissed, pressing his own weapon against the side of the guy’s neck as he came up behind him soundlessly.

The man cringed and the pistol clattered on the floor, making Hank shove him forward and away from the noise as fast as possible. “You say a single word, I’ll watch you bleed out from your fucking throat, we clear?”

The guy nodded frantically, his hands held up in surrender. Hank thought for a moment. Chances that the Sterns gave enough of a shit about this guy to not want to see him get shot were very small and not worth the risk of exposing himself into the open. They were on high alert now though, so whatever he did next, had to include more stealth.

He sighed, swinging his arm to smash his gun into the side of the man’s head. The guy sagged against him without a sound and Hank quickly guided him to the floor. He stood up, pressing his back to the wall and slowly guiding himself along it towards the doorway. Cautiously he looked out, trying to locate Connor, but most of the room seemed now deserted.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

He was going to be fired quicker than he could say homicide, but he didn’t give a fuck about that if he couldn’t get Connor out of here. Jeffrey was right. Connor wasn’t Cole. But Hank would be damned if he’d let the same thing happen to him. He cursed again, ready to leave his hiding spot and move into the other room. He paused.

Everything was eerily quiet.

Hank heard his own heavy breathing, could almost tell the way he feverishly tried keep it in check like he had any sort of control. Nobody stumbled. No whispering.

They fled.

They fled, hadn’t they?

God-fucking-damnit.

Hank let his shoulders sag in defeat. So close. So fucking close. And all he had to show for it was the unconscious guy in the room behind him. He watched as the SWAT team burst through the front door and the back. It wasn’t long before they spotted him and growled aggressively at him as he flashed them his badge.

“Get outside,” Allen barked in discontent.

Hank huffed but turned towards the door. He trudged through the room, his head low and shoulders slumped in stark contrast with the frantic activity of the SWAT team flurrying around him.

A single shot rang out in one of the back rooms. The flurrying of the SWAT team halted and everything was terrifyingly silent for a few seconds.

Then Hank was making a run for it, not listening to whatever Allen was continuing to bark at him in protest. His hand tightened around his gun as he sprinted from room to room. He was fairly certain he’d straight up murder anyone that came to stood in his way right now.

He slammed open the door with as much force as he could muster. The large man with the gun in his hand startled and missed his aim as he shot again. The bullet firmly nestled itself into the wall. Hank saw a leg partially obscured by the large man’s figure. Hank saw another leg. Artificial, without a shoe. A growing puddle of dark red blood.

A rage he hadn’t felt in a long time took hold of him. Later he’d admit that anything he’d done that day was the very example of how not to react in a crisis situation as a police man, but at the moment, all he could see was the leg and the blood and the greasy looking giant that stood in between. He snarled, remembered the gun in his own hands and pulled the trigger without further hesitation.

The man gave a guttural scream as he was hit in the chest. He clumsily readied his own weapon to point it at Hank, but before he could pull the trigger, another bullet lodged itself into the side of his skull. The life in his eyes went out immediately and he crashed to the floor like a limp rag.

As the blood raging through Hank’s ears slowed and he panted to slow his frantic heartrate, he could finally make out the faint, hitching breaths on the other side of the room. Shaking himself out of his haze, Hank threw away his weapon and scrambled over to the child on the floor. The boy’s eyes were open wide and he struggled to breathe. Hank’s eyes roamed over the boy’s body, searching for any sign that this wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. His hands pressed down over the left side of the kid’s chest, where the bullet had most likely punctured a lung, if not anything else.

Connor gasped, his small hands faintly but frantically grasping at where Hank was putting pressure on the wound. He coughed and whimpered, pressing his eyes shut as his face crumpled in pain. The unbidden memories physically hurt and Hank had to put everything forward not to let go and curl in on himself in grief. He gasped, drowning in the litany of _You fucked up again, _and _You are too late. _Hank yelled haphazardly for help into the empty hallway.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he heard himself say hurriedly to the child, trying to ignore the way the boy’s hands left bloodied smears on his own arm as he kept trying to push Hank’s hands off him. “It’s not that bad, Connor,” he promised, “It’s not even that bad. We’re just gonna fix it, you’ll be as good as new. Everything’s okay.” Tears were in his voice, but he didn’t care. The child’s large brown eyes were staring up at him in unconcealed fear as his chest heaved jerkily in a much too rapid tempo. Hank left one hand pressing down against the boy’s chest while he brought the other up to stroke through Connor’s hair. He felt his own bottom lip tremble as he watched fat tears slide down the side of the kid’s face in a steady stream. Goddamnit. He needed to keep it together. He needed to be calm.

“Hurts,” Connor choked out and Hank watched with absolute terror as blood bubbled out of the corners of the kid’s mouth. The feeble attempts to get Hank’s hand away from his bleeding chest were getting weaker by the second and his eyes were starting to lose focus.

“Hey, you gotta stay awake buddy,” Hank rushed, peering into Connor’s paling face. “I know it hurts, boy. I know. But just stay with me, okay? That’s all you gotta do.”

And the kid tried, he really did. But Hank could see the horrific resignation that washed over the boy’s face. Felt the hitching, jerky breaths diminish in their intensity. Connor’s eyes lost focus, staring at a point past the left of Hank’s brow. Where the fuck was everybody? He yelled again into the hallway, trying to fight the tremors that ran over his own body. “Hey, hey,” he breathed, shaking the boy softly, “you gotta stay awake, remember? That’s an order.”

“Miles,” whispered Connor.

“No,” Hank said, shaking his head, “Don’t listen to Miles right now, okay? I’m here. You just gotta focus on my voice.”

“He says it’s okay,” Connor informed, a calm sort of exhaustion in his voice.

“Well, I say it’s not,” Hank persisted. It felt kind of childish, but it was the only thing he could think of at the moment, “And I’m older.”

Connor contemplated that for half a second, “’m cold,” he slurred. “’n tired.”

Hank nodded, feeling his stomach twist in fear, “I know, son. You can go to sleep soon, but not right now, alright? Gotta keep me company. Just keep looking at me.”

Connor’s eyes opened and he blearily looked up, focusing on Hank’s face for a second before drifting away again, “Pain’s gone.”

Hank closed his eyes and swallowed, feeling absolutely helpless even as activity broke out through the open door behind him. He kept his hand firmly on Connor’s chest, feeling the movement under his palm there despite everything. Blood was everywhere. Urgent commands were shouted over his head. Connor closed his eyes with a sigh. Hank kept stroking through the kid’s hair, focusing on nothing else but the rapid heartbeat under his hand.


	17. Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this as poetic as possible :)
> 
> let me know what you think

“Miles,” whispered Connor. Miles stood behind Hank. He looked… different, although Connor couldn’t tell how. His brother smiled serenely at him and nodded.

“It’s okay, Connor. Just close your eyes.” Miles said slowly, closing his own eyes as if to demonstrate.

“He says it’s okay,” Connor told Hank, who was still frantically raking his fingers through Connor’s hair. Perhaps Hank thought that Connor couldn’t tell that he was crying. But it was okay. It really was. He thought about Hank’s answer. Hank _was _older than Miles. But did that mean he was right? Staying awake was so hard. Closing his eyes was a blessing. But, Connor had learned, sometimes you had to do hard things in order to accomplish a mission successfully. So he tried to keep his eyes open and then, almost as a reward, all the pain in his body seemed to disappear. He felt himself relax, relieved. He looked up at Miles, who was still smiling.

“Don’t be scared, Connor,” his brother said softly, “It will be very quick. It’s nothing to be scared of.”

Connor wondered what he was talking about, although he thought he knew, somehow. Miles looked… different, and it took a long while before Connor could tell why. Miles looked like he didn’t belong here. Like a bad green screen. Miles didn’t look _real. _Fear returned to Connor’s body when Miles stretched out a hand. Connor shook his head, suddenly terrified because he couldn’t feel Lieutenant Anderson next to him anymore. Miles furrowed his brow and tilted his head like he didn’t quite understand. Connor remembered how scared Miles had been that night. How he’d cried when the man pointed the gun at him and how he’d closed his eyes despite everything when mommy had asked him to. He remembered how the red stain had spread quickly over Miles’ blue pajamas. How _scared _his brother had been. How _scared _Connor had been.

It made no sense for Miles not to be scared now.

“I am scared,” Connor admitted through his tears. Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t there anymore. Had he left? Had he given up? It was just Connor and Miles now.

“I know,” Miles whispered, stepping closer and getting down on one knee. Connor missed everything about him. And about Bonnie. He wasn’t so sure about Mommy and Daddy right now. Miles reached out a hand again and splayed it out over Connor’s forehead. It felt warm and familiar, memories of playing games in the backyard overwriting the ones of the growing red stain. Connor smiled too. “You can come with me if you want,” Miles said softly, “It will be just like it was.”

Connor nodded through his tears. He _did _want that. He’d wanted that for so long. Just him, Miles, Bonnie and mommy and daddy. Just like it was. In the house, in the backyard, in the supermarket, it didn’t matter. “How?” he wondered.

“I will show you,” Miles promised, reaching out his hand and waiting for Connor to take it. “You will never have to do anything you don’t want again. Nobody will ever make you hurt again.”

That sounded almost too good to be true. Almost. He reached out and felt Miles’ fingers encircle his wrist.

There was a flash of white light.

Connor gasped, spreading his eyes open wide as he jerked. Lieutenant Anderson grasped his forehead in the place where Miles’ hand had been a little bit before. “You’re doing great, Connor,” Hank rasped in a rough voice, saying more words that Connor didn’t understand. There were more people around them now, but Connor couldn’t make sense of anything. Hands touched him everywhere and Connor guessed they were in some sort of car.

Miles was gone.

Connor desperately closed his eyes, his brother’s promise still fresh on his mind. All the while Lieutenant Anderson kept talking to him, kept rubbing his thumb over Connor’s hairline. Fear was clawing its way back to the forefront of his mind and he sobbed, then figured out that hurt, then felt like he couldn’t breathe at all. Somebody was screaming something. Hank’s hand on his head tensed, then was removed. Connor lost all sense of stability and it felt like he was falling. Through blurred colors and broken off sounds. He wanted to scream, but wasn’t sure his mouth worked at all. He kept falling and falling, his surroundings getting darker and darker.

Until Miles caught him.

Connor was dragged upwards onto some sort of cliff and they both panted as they lay there. The grass was wet from rain under his hands and Connor pressed his face into it, feeling the water soak into his hair. The sun shone on the back of his head as he laid there on his belly. Bonnie was dancing around Connor and Miles in her happy puppy steps. She nipped at Connor’s fingers in the grass, clearly ready to play some more. Connor turned himself onto his back, feeling his shirt cling to him. It was wet, but not with blood. Bonnie came up to his face and gave him a firm lick over his brow, then one over his cheek. Connor giggled, pushing her away gently. Bonnie said down and panted, watching him intently as Connor slowly sat up, shaking his head to send the raindrops from the grass flying into the air.

“Connor! Miles!” Mommy called from a little bit away.

Miles scrambled upright quickly and called over to the tree line at the edge of the park where they had parked the car. “We’re coming, Mom! Connor fell over!”

“I did not,” Connor mumbled, petting Bonnie’s head as she planted her front paws on his chest. Grass was sticking to him everywhere, but the sun would dry him off soon enough. He got up beside Miles.

“Did too!” Miles laughed, shoving him back playfully. “Come on, we gotta leave before it starts raining again.”

“I don’t wanna leave,” Connor whined, watching Bonnie sniffle around on the ground.

“Man, you look like some sort of grass monster,” Miles declared, taking a few steps towards the car. “Come on, let’s go.”

Connor watched. Miles was still nine years old, but Connor wasn’t four anymore. He was the only one who had aged. Strange, but not something to worry about, he guessed. He followed Miles to the car. Mommy had spread out sandwiches on the picnic table next to the road and Connor and Miles both dove for the one with peanut butter. Of course, Miles was faster. He always had been. He stuck out his tongue at Connor and Connor scowled at him.

“Bonnie, attack him!” Connor shouted, turning around.

Bonnie was nowhere to be seen.

He turned back, watching the picnic table, the sandwiches and the car blur and fade away slowly. Only Miles stayed. He looked at Connor with a sad expression. “We could stay here, if you want.”

Connor nodded frantically. Of course he wanted that.

“It will only be a memory, Connor,” Miles said sadly.

“But it’s a good one,” Connor countered, looking down at his two intact legs.

“Yes, but there’s also bad ones.”

“We don’t have to go to those,” Connor said quickly.

Miles smiled, the sad expression still on his face. He reached out his hand again and Connor took it without question.

_No._

White flashed again and Connor opened his eyes to people hovering over him with blue hats and blue masks. He felt his chest work up and down rapidly and there was a plastic thing over his face. He could breathe now, but it hurt so much. He whimpered, searching around for his brother frantically.

“Hey, hey,” one of the blue masks said, “He’s back, we got a pulse. Can you tell me your name?”

“C-con-” Connor choked, trying not to sob as fear gripped every part of his body. He wanted to go back to the park and the field and the car and Bonnie and Miles and peanut butter.

“Connor?” the blue mask’s voice was female and gentle.

Connor nodded. There was blood in his mouth and in his hair and on his hands. The blue mask’s eyes looked like she smiled at him. “Alright Connor, that’s a wonderful name. My name is Jenny and we’re going to take good care of you. You are doing so well. Just try and stay awake for us, okay?” Connor nodded again, his eyes trained solely on Jenny’s blue masked face. She had wrinkles around her grey eyes and Connor wished he could see more of her face.

“That’s good, that’s so good,” Jenny praised softly and crouched down to be more on eye level with him, “They’re gonna move you over from the stretcher to the table now, okay?”

“M-Miles,” Connor moaned.

“Who is Miles?”

“Brother.”

“Was there another boy?” Somebody asked that Connor couldn’t see. He shook his head. They didn’t understand. Somebody counted down and then he was lifted up for a second before being placed onto a padded, but hard table. Scissors moved into his shirt and it was cut away. It was wet. Not with rain, with blood. Hands roamed over his body. He couldn’t exactly feel it, but it was making him scared nevertheless. His breath hitched and he coughed, feeling blood come into his mouth again. He whimpered and pressed his eyes closed. He didn’t want to be here. Not with the sounds and beeps and voices and hands.

“Shh,” Jenny’s hand pressed into his hair and Connor looked at her through the tiny slits of his eyes. “They’re just trying to see how badly you’re hurt. I know it’s uncomfortable. But you are doing so well. I am so proud of you.”

And Connor didn’t know Jenny, but he was glad anyway. His head felt foggy and the voices seemed to get farther and farther away. Jenny’s hand remained on his hair and she was still crouched down next to him. “We’re gonna make sure you can breathe properly again, alright?” Jenny promised, “They’re going to take you to a room and you will sleep for a while, but it will all feel better when you wake up.”

Connor wondered if that was true. He wondered if he would be back with Miles and Bonnie when he woke up. That would be nice. He wanted to tell Jenny that, but there was a loud beep ringing in his ears and then he was falling again.

He pushed himself up from the grass and the moss under the tree. Miles was still up there, looking down with wide eyes. “Connor!” he shouted, “You okay?”

“Yeah!” Connor yelled back as he got up and wiped off his grassy hands on his jeans.

Miles laughed, his legs swinging up and down cheerfully from where he sat on the tree branch. “Dude! I can see our house from up here!”

“That’s a lie!” Connor said.

“It’s true! It’s right over there!” Miles said with a mischievous smile as he pointed. “Come back up here. You won’t fall again, alright?”

Miles was teasing him. You couldn’t see their house from there; it was too far away. Bonnie barked impatiently, wondering why she wasn’t included in their little climbing game. Miles won. Miles always won. It was unfair. Connor shook his head at his brother, letting his back slide down the tree’s bark as he sat down in the moss. Satisfied, Bonnie came up to him and gave him a sniff before barking up at Miles.

“Hi, Bonnie!” Miles called happily before he stood up and grabbed the branch above him. “I’m going higher up!” he announced.

“Mommy says you’re not allowed to climb higher up!” Connor reminded him.

“I can do it,” Miles replied with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m gonna tell!”

“You’re a wuss,” Miles sighed in exasperation, “Besides, Mom’s not even here.”

Bonnie barked again. Connor stood up to look at Miles in the tree, “Bonnie says you have to get down too!”

“No,” Miles denied, “Bonnie is cheering for me. Look Bon, no hands!”

Miles let go of the branch above him, standing and swaying precariously as he waved at the dog. “Mi-iles!” Connor whined.

“Scared-y cat!” Miles called. Scoffing as he lowered himself to sit down again. He stepped, slipped and fell. He landed on his back with a thump in the moss and grass. He stayed down, dazed.

Connor’s eyes widened and he ran over to his brother. Miles’ eyes were closed and Connor wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He shook him, trying not to see the red stain growing on his brother’s chest.

No.

No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t how this went.

The red stain vanished and Miles opened his eyes with a wide smile. “I fooled you!” He laughed as he sat up. “I wasn’t really dead.”

“That was not funny!” Connor cried, the shock still coursing through his system.

“Oh come on,” Miles still smiled as he grabbed his brother’s arms, “I’m fine, see! Nothing to worry about.”

“There was blood!”

Miles frowned, confused. He looked at Connor for a moment, “No, there wasn’t. There never has been.”

“I saw it!”

“Mom always says you have a wild imagination, right?”

Connor nodded slowly, hiccupping. He wasn’t sure why he was so upset. Miles was fine. He was just joking. And there wasn’t any blood on any shirt whatsoever. Bonnie was racing in circles around them, inviting them to play. The sun was shining. “We could stay here,” he whispered.

“Nah, Mom will get worried,” Miles gave him a soft smile, “Besides, it’s not any fun if you’re too chicken to climb in any trees again.”

“I want to stay,” Connor said sadly, “But I don’t know if I can.”

Miles frowned and the tree behind him seemed to blur a little bit. “Why not?”

“Because there’s bad memories too.”

“There’s no blood, Connor.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

A strange silence stretched between them. Bonnie’s barking echoed like they were in a long tunnel. Connor could see the field and the trees. The wet patch of sand where he’d drawn a giraffe with a stick one time. Miles was right. He _had _a wild imagination. Miles looked at him with that same sad, calm look in his eyes that Connor remembered. “Do you want me to go?” he whispered.

Connor pressed his eyes closed, drowning out Bonnie’s barking and the wind that rushed through the tree leaves. He felt his face crumble as he suppressed a sob, sometimes you had to do hard things, “Yes,” he nodded.

Miles squeezed his hands affectionately, smiling despite the tears in his eyes, “Okay.”

Connor opened his eyes to look at him again. Miles looked like he didn’t belong here. He squeezed Connor’s hands one more time before letting go. He smiled at him, then turned and walked away.


End file.
